


The Derry Film Festival

by eikyuu



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Eddie's got some major anxiety, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Background Ships, Mutual Pining, New Kid AU, Reddie, Slow Burn, Swearing, The Losers Club, The Losers are a family, bill is an artist, minor uses of homophobic language, none of the losers are straight okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eikyuu/pseuds/eikyuu
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is the new kid for the first time in his life after moving from Portland to Derry with his mom. Once he meets his neighbor, Richie Tozier, and five other kids, he decides that's not such a bad thing after all.





	1. Chapter 1

By the time Sonia Kaspbrak’s old station wagon rolled into Derry’s outskirts, it was already mid-afternoon. The summer had been unusually warm this year, and the sunlight that streamed through the windows was baking the upholstery in square-shaped patches, one of which fell across Sonia’s left arm and leg. This would no doubt have given her a nasty driver’s sunburn if she hadn’t preemptively slathered herself with sun-screen that morning. The rattling air conditioner kept the car’s interior relatively comfortable as the station wagon crept ever closer to arriving in Derry proper, and then onward to the new house that waited, empty and inviting, at the end of the long journey from Portland.

 

Eddie Kaspbrak sat in the back, instead of the passenger seat, squarely in the middle where he’d be safest from harm in case, God forbid, they were in a car accident. His iPod rested atop his right leg as it churned out the pop hits of the 80s. Eddie’s musical taste was extremely outdated, especially by the standards of most of his peers. 16 year old boys should be listening to some kind of contemporary genre, not Cyndi Lauper and Queen. Eddie didn’t really care, and it wasn’t really like he had a choice in the matter when his mother dictated what he could and couldn’t listen to anyway. Besides, these songs were comfortable in the same way a quilt you have as a child is comfortable. They reminded him of his father, helped keep those few and blurred memories vivid in Eddie’s mind’s eye.

 

Sonia had long-since given up on trying to assure Eddie that a fresh start would do them both good, that the air in her home town was fresher, the people there were friendlier. “A stronger sense of community”, she’d called it. Eddie already knew that was code for “a more concentrated grapevine through which to gossip”. After the second attempt at talking about growing up in Derry, Eddie had made it obvious he wasn’t listening by giving Sonia one-word replies and leaning over in his seat to idly pick at some packing tape on one of the cardboard boxes that sat nestled against his hip. His mother had huffed, obviously annoyed at Eddie’s lack of enthusiasm, but she didn’t make as big a fuss as she normally might. Poor Eddie, she rationalized, was probably getting his usual car sickness after spending two days on the road, and anyway, she needed to focus on navigating through the final stretch of road to their destination.

 

Derry, from all that Google had mustered up for Eddie to read about before they actually made the move there, was a speck of a town. It was nestled in a picturesque New England forest, but the place itself was nothing to look at. It had two grocery stores, three gas stations, one movie theater, and one high school. The thought of being the new kid in a place where everyone had known each other since birth made Eddie’s skin crawl. He was sure to stick out like a sore thumb.

 

Portland hadn’t exactly been a great place to live, either. Eddie wasn’t the type of kid who had many friends. Or _any_ friends, really. There were some classmates who smiled at him, and some who made a habit of sitting next to him at chess club to discuss different strategies, or even ones who waved at him in the hallway and who always partnered with him for projects, but that’s as far as any interaction went. They were “school friends”, not the kind of friends who remembered Eddie’s birthday, or even invited him to go to the arcade with them on weekends. He had a feeling that it mostly had to do with Sonia’s iron grip on him, and her dictatorial way of deciding what he could do, where he could go, and who he could talk to. That kind of behavior could only be concealed so much before it exploded into the public eye every time Sonia went up to the school and demanded special treatment for her boy. It was like her only goal in life was to embarrass Eddie to death and if not, at least ensure that he’d be alone for the rest of his life.

 

Deep down, Eddie suspected that it might also have to do with the fact that he himself was a 5’6” kid with sometimes-crippling anxiety and a penchant for writing “little stories” about comic book characters. That’s what everyone called them, “little stories”. It was a nice way of saying that, by virtue of them being about superheroes, his stories were silly and a waste of time. Many an English teacher had read his work over the years and politely told him that writing for comic books was a dead-end career, and that his talent for writing intriguing action scenes should be put towards a career as a novelist instead. Eddie didn’t want to write novels, though. He dreamed of working for Marvel studios someday, of his plotlines brought to life with ink and color, of his words coming out of Spiderman’s mouth through a speech bubble, and of his comics being sold in stores like the ones he goes to. Of little kids like him to read his stories and think “maybe I, too, can achieve my goals, even when my mom is a dream-killing monster.”

 

They finally passed the “Welcome to Derry” sign, and a particularly rough patch of road jostled the boxes they had piled around them noisily. Eddie hadn’t been carsick earlier, as Sonia had thought, but he was well on his way to sickness now.

 

“We’re here, Eddie-bear,” Sonia murmurs, her voice wavering in a way that Eddie hasn’t heard in years and can’t quite place. Hope, maybe.

 

The truth was that this move was for Sonia’s benefit, not his. Portland hadn’t been the same for her since Eddie’s father, Frank, had died. Eddie had watched as every year since he was 5 crushed his mother’s spirit more and more, until she’d been fired from in her job this past April. That had been the breaking point. Sonia vowed on that same day that she could no longer stand to live there, that she and Eddie both needed a change. Welcome to Derry.

 

Eddie sat more upright in his seat as they started cruising through the neighborhoods, nearing their new house which neither of them had yet seen in person. He pulled his earphones from his ears and meticulously wrapped the cord around his iPod, just tight enough as not to damage the wires inside. Eddie was careful with his things by nature, which Sonia endlessly appreciated, because while her job afforded them basic comforts, they didn’t exactly have a lot of spending money at any given time.

 

Their new house was easy to find only because the moving truck was already parked on the street in front of it, probably the first moving truck the town had seen in months. Sonia pulled into the driveway of the cream-colored house and killed the engine. It was a plain and boring house, Eddie thought, just like the rest of his life was plain and boring. The front lawn was small and manicured, identical to the lawns on either side of them, and the mailbox was nondescript and grey. The walkway that lead to the front door from the driveway was simple concrete with no stone embellishments or even potted plants to flank it.

 

The movers had already been unloading boxes and furniture inside the house, and they politely greeted Sonia as she got out of the car. She would have to open up the back seat door and remove the boxes on one side for Eddie to be able to get out. He waited anxiously as she did so, and almost bumped into her in his eagerness to scoot out and stretch his legs. She seemed more amused by this than anything, perhaps in a good mood because of the circumstances. Or maybe she was just subdued by her exhaustion.

 

“Eddie, be a dear and help me get these boxes inside,” she says, gesturing to the things she had set down on the driveway in order to unbury her son.

 

“Of course, ma,” he replied. It was easy to be obedient when the requests were reasonable.

 

They worked alongside the movers to unpack the car and the truck, and while it was monotonous, sweaty work, it was still much better than being cramped in the back seat of the station wagon for two days. As Eddie made trips to what would soon become his bedroom, he felt a small sense of excitement at the change of scenery. He’d only moved once before, from a house to an apartment. He’d never moved to an entirely new town before. Maybe his mom had been right, this would be good for both of them. A fresh start.

 

On his fourth (fifth?) trip back outside, Eddie paused to properly take in his surroundings for the first time. The houses on this street were all very similar to his: two-story, neat little lawns, and all in varying shades of muted blues, greys and browns. He was almost done taking in the rather boring view when he realized that the house across the street and down by the corner had a small herd of people standing around in the driveway. He’d almost missed it, hidden halfway behind the moving truck. When Eddie walked around to the back of the truck for a closer look, he realized that the people were teenagers, somewhere around his age, and they were looking over at him with what must be curiosity. He swallowed nervously, suddenly self-conscious, and turned his back to them as he climbed into the back of the truck to retrieve the last of the boxes. He thinks he might hear a shout from the direction of the house on the street corner when he heads back for his house, but he ignores it.

 

Eventually, they get everything moved inside the house, and once the movers drive away, Sonia and Eddie are left amongst a sea of boxes, all of them labeled with things like “kitchen”, “living room”, and “FRAGILE!!!” Eddie laughs quietly and humorlessly at those particular boxes, because he knows his mom would feel better if she could label him with that word, too.

 

It’s five o’clock, and Sonia has officially reached her limit of physical exertion for the day. It’s really a miracle that she helped at all with unloading things, even though she had still spent a good deal of time sitting down and directing the movers on where to put what, and to shout at Eddie not to lift anything too heavy. She was currently reclining in her favorite old chair, halfway asleep, a sheen of sweat glinting across her forehead. Eddie almost just slipped upstairs to begin unpacking his room, put sheets on his mattress and some books on his shelves, but then he remembers the herd of teenagers down the street and curiosity wins him over.

 

“Uh…ma, I’m gonna go check something outside,” he says lamely. If Sonia weren’t basically unconscious, there wasn’t even a chance that she would just let him outside with an excuse as vague as that. As it is, Sonia only mumbles incoherently in a way that sounds like permission to go outside. He leaves before she has the chance fully process his words.

 

Eddie feels supremely stupid for peeking out the front door, but after years of bullying and harassment it’s become second nature to be cautious of new people. Especially when they had obviously been watching him just minutes earlier. Eddie’s heart is hammering softly in his chest, just a little faster than usual, as he walks out onto his new lawn. He glances over none-too discreetly. Now that the moving truck is gone, both he and the mysterious teenagers have an unobstructed view of one another. They’re still there alright, and they seem to look back at him when they notice that there’s new movement from the house. Eddie swallows and realizes he doesn’t know what to do now, so he walks all the way down to the mailbox and pretends that he’s come out to inspect it. There won’t be any mail in it yet, of course. It’s Sunday.

 

When he deems 10 seconds to be enough time spent looking inside an empty mailbox, Eddie closes the door with a metallic whine and makes to go back inside. He’s done an excellent job of embarrassing himself in front of a bunch of kids who probably go to his school, and maybe even unwittingly ruined his chances of befriending anyone as a result. It was a small town, rumors of his awkwardness and stupidity would probably consume Derry High before lunchtime on the first day, and he'd be cast aside as a loser. School started in just one week, there was no way they’d forget about the weird new kid by then—

 

Eddie’s train of thought was completely derailed when he realized, firstly, that he’d been planted in the same spot beside the mailbox for far longer than 10 seconds now, and, secondly, that one of the teenagers had taken it upon themselves to cross the street and approach him. The teenager in question was alarmingly close, too close for Eddie to run away from her now. She’d been given the advantage of Eddie getting carried away with his thoughts.

 

At this proximity, Eddie could see that this girl was, like a lot of girls his age, taller than him by a couple inches. She was also very beautiful. Not just “pretty”, and not even “small town beautiful”, either. Truly, properly beautiful. Her eyes were a stormy hazel, almost more grey than green, and her hair was a shade of natural red that Eddie had never seen in person before, like only someone in a movie would have. In the fading light of the sunset, her curls gleamed with a halo of gold. She wore a floral print shirt, what looked like a house key that swung loosely from a long chain, and a pair of beaten-to-shit ankle boots.

 

“Hey there,” the girl says, smiling. “Sorry if we made you uncomfortable earlier with the staring. It’s just that it’s been _ages_ since a kid has moved to Derry. We’re more used to people leaving.” Eddie somehow feels like this meeting is something cosmic, like destiny. He was meant to meet this girl, she’s going to be important. “I’m Beverly, by the way. Beverly Marsh. Most people call me Bev, though.”

 

Eddie is slow to find his words. Between his speechlessness and his behavior up until now, he’s not off to a good start where impressing Beverly and her friends is concerned. “I’m Eddie Kaspbrak,” he says finally, sticking out his clammy hand for Bev to shake. If she’s put off by this, she doesn’t show it, clasping his hand in her own.

 

“Nice to meet you, Eddie.” Bev radiates a genuine warmth that Eddie is already finding himself leaning into. He’s never met someone quite like her before. “I came over here because my friends are actually pretty excited to meet you, but half of them just wanted to shout at you menacingly from across the street, and the other half were too chicken to come over. So I took it upon myself to invite you over, like a normal human being.”

 

Eddie takes in her words slowly, glancing back over her shoulder to where her friends are all standing and watching. One of the kids starts waving his arms above his head in what Eddie interprets as excitement. “Yeah…it was a little weird to look over and see a group of kids staring at me,” he admits.

 

Bev looks a bit embarrassed at that, letting out a soft laugh. “Well, would you like to put an end to this little standoff? No pressure if you’re busy, or, you know, just don’t want to. They’re good guys, though, I promise.”

 

Eddie looks back at the group of boys, who are now standing at the end of the driveway, obviously eager to know what’s being said between Bev and the New Kid. “Okay,” he says, as if it required any deliberating at all to reply to her. Bev had drawn Eddie in before she’d even spoken to him, and if her friends were all jerks he’d still like to talk to her awhile longer.

 

Bev smiles even wider at this and gestures for Eddie to follow her as she turns back to cross the street. Eddie hesitantly walks just a couple steps behind her, making a conscious effort not to nervously wring his hands. The boys come into view as they walk towards them, their faces finally clear enough to discern from one another. Eddie counts four in total with one sweeping look.

 

The boy in front catches Eddie’s attention first. It’s impossible _not_ to look at him first and foremost, actually. The kid is tall and lanky, bringing to Eddie’s mind the enchanted mop from Fantasia. His hair is a mess of black curls atop his head, and his thick-lensed, black-framed glasses are absolutely ridiculous, but his clothes are what Eddie decides are the most absurd part of him. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that any rational person might wear, but his feet are clad in the most obnoxiously colorful sneakers Eddie has ever seen. He’s also wearing a shirt with [a knockoff Bart Simpson flipping the bird on the front, with a speech bubble that says “Fuck off! Dude’s”](https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/1775406-fuck-off-dudes), and over that: a tacky Hawaiian-style shirt. Eddie stares at the boy, uncomprehending.

 

Weirdly, the boy stares back for a minute as well, probably taking in Eddie the same way. The other three boys are peeking out on either side of him, regarding Eddie quietly, but with less bewildered expressions. The boy then seems to remember himself, and breaks into a grin. “Check it out! I rendered the new boy speechless with my sheer sexiness!”

 

Eddie feels his face grow warm, but before he can muster some kind of comeback, one of other the boys beside the tall one scrunches up his nose in disgust. “Beep beep, Richie. He obviously was just dumbstruck by the sheer _ugliness_ of your clothes.” He gestures up and down the boy’s--Richie’s--body, frowning. “Where’d you even find that shirt?”

 

Richie makes a whiney kind of noise at the other boy’s initial words, feigning indignation, but seems distracted by the question tacked on the end. “Internet,” he replies cheerfully. “You can find just about anything on the internet.”

 

“Y-you’re already making us look b-b-bad in front of the new kid,” the tall boy standing on the other side of Richie says, smacking his arm with no real force behind it. “Look at him, h-he doesn’t even know w-w-what to say.”

 

Beverly, who Eddie had forgotten was standing beside him during this bizarre first meeting, decides it’s time to intervene. “This is Eddie Kaspbrak,” she says. “Eddie, the loudmouth in the middle is Richie Tozier, the fussy one to his left is Stanley Uris, the one who just smacked Richie is Bill Denbrough,” she points to the fourth boy, who seems to be the shyest of the group, “and that’s Ben Hanscom. He’s not very talkative, but he’s the nicest of us by far.”

 

“Eddie!” Richie exclaims, as if he’s excited to try the name out. “Cute name for a cute boy! Eddie, Ed, Edward…Eduardo…Edwin. Eddie Spaghetti! No, no, _Eds_! I’m gonna call you Eds, okay?”

 

Eddie stares at Richie like he just sprouted a second head, trying to process what had just come out of his mouth. “Are you deaf? Bev just told you what my name is. It’s not under discussion what you call me, you call me Eddie or you call me nothing.” Had he really just called him cute?

 

Richie pouts. “Aw, are you sure? ‘Nothing’ isn’t nearly as fun a nickname as Eds. I also kinda like Eddie Spaghetti, it’s some of my cleverest work on the fly.”

 

Stan takes the liberty of stepping in again, talking to Eddie as if Richie wasn’t standing right next to him. “You’ll learn to tune him out, most of the time at least. That is, if you even want to hang out with us after this.” Eddie decides, as far as first impressions go, he likes Stan. He’s not all that much taller than Eddie, and has a head of hair that might even be curlier than Richie’s. His flat, sarcastic way of talking is endearing.

 

“I don’t know, I might.” He shrugs. “It’s not like I have people banging down my door to befriend me.” He has, in fact, never been in a situation like this before.

 

Bill smirks. “Y-you might prefer solitude t-t-to being around Richie,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.  His auburn hair, not nearly as vivid as Bev’s, is long on top and flops over to one side of his face. He has the same kind of natural warmth as Bev for sure, though. His blue eyes are glinting with good humor.

 

“Don’t feel like you have to force yourself to endure that kind of torture,” Ben agrees, his voice lighthearted and a playful smile on his face. Stan seems to be the only one who might actually mean it when he insults Richie, but Eddie can sense some kind of long-suffering endearment underneath his critical tone, and doubts it.

 

“Hey! You guys aren’t exactly selling us to Eddie here,” Richie says, trying to shift their focus away from teasing him. He talks directly to Eddie now, his warm brown eyes focused on his face. “Don’t listen to them, they’re just jealous because we all know I’m the hottest and most talented member of our group,” he glances beside Eddie and amends, “after Bev, of course.”

 

The six of them idly chat as the sun continues to set. Eddie finds himself easing into the flow of the conversation after a short while, even getting in a few smart remarks that seem to impress the other kids. They discuss basic topics like where Eddie had moved from and how they generally felt about living in Derry, things that Eddie could expect from living here also. Bev offhandedly mentioned a boy named Mike, who, Stan explained, was the sixth member of their little group. They called themselves the Losers, because they knew that that’s what other people thought of them anyway.

 

Eddie and Richie almost immediately strike up a banter that has Eddie occasionally wondering if he’s being _too_ mean. During one such moment, Richie nearly doubles over with a peal of laughter and pretends to wipe tears from his eyes. Eddie starts to doubt that Richie’s feelings could ever be genuinely hurt, he seems to take everything as a joke.

 

“Who would’ve guessed my skittish neighbor would turn out to be such a feisty little habanero pepper?” he says, grinning with a manic gleam in his eye.

 

Eddie furrows his brow in slight confusion, then realizes that logically, one of these kids had to actually live in the house they currently stood in front of. For some reason, Eddie had assumed it was Beverly’s house. Or maybe he’d just hoped it was. Richie seems to notice the brief flash of confusion.

 

“Hoping someone else lived here?” he asks, his voice teasing.

 

“What? No, I just…I guess I didn’t even stop to think whose house it was?” Eddie is suddenly self-conscious again. He sounded like such an awkward idiot.

 

Instead of anyone teasing him further, or even giving him pitying looks, the others just laughed good-humoredly. Eddie finds himself chuckling along with them, until he hears something that sounds much-too close to a front door opening and closing. It’s probably not _his_ front door, but Eddie can’t hide his flinch when he hears it. He suddenly remembers that he’s left his mom alone in the house for almost half an hour now. Eventually, she’ll come around enough to wonder where Eddie is, and it’s best for everyone if he’s upstairs in his room when she does.

 

“I should go,” he says, trying to sound casual but mostly just sounding abrupt. The others seem to share a look at the combination of Eddie’s flinch and his sudden desire to leave. “I’ve got a lot of things to unpack…”

 

“Like lotion and tissues, I get it,” Richie says sagely, nodding. “I respect your priorities.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Trashmouth,” Eddie says in a borderline-horrified voice, his nose wrinkled up in disgust. He secretly appreciates that Richie, knowingly or not, distracted them all from the fact that Eddie was, indeed skittish.

 

Richie gapes at him. Beverly, on the other hand, snickers at the new nickname. “What did you just call me?!” 

 

“You heard me,” Eddie replies, and turns on his heel to go back across the street to his own cream-colored house. He turns back over his shoulder to wave at the group, who all wave back except for Richie, who is fixing Eddie in a strange kind of look, one Eddie has never seen on anyone before. Almost like someone presented with a problem they cannot begin to know how to solve. It’s probably similar to the one Eddie first looked at Richie with.

 

“See you around?!” Beverly calls to Eddie with her hands cupped around her mouth, as he’s almost all the way across the street now. “We’re all hanging out here tomorrow at noon if you wanna come over! You can meet Mike!”

 

“We’ll see!” Eddie calls back. He’s grinning. All five kids across the street are grinning, too.

 

When Eddie walks back into the house to find his mother where he’d left her, he lets his shoulders relax and heads upstairs to his bare room. He’s never felt this giddy before in his life. Five new friends in just one day, and the possibility of a sixth? Maybe there was something good about Derry after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, this ended up being really long and I don't even know how good it is because it is 2AM right now, but I needed to write a Reddie fic before I lost my mind. I started reading the novel recently, after watching the mini series and the 2017 movie several months ago, so I'm gonna try to combine different elements I like from all three and then throw in some of my own headcanons, like Richie wearing nothing but novelty t-shirts and obnoxiously bright colors. Actual plot stuff will come in probably next chapter, as will Mike


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning finds Eddie a little apprehensive. He wakes up extra early to help his mom unpack the kitchen, since they need cookware, plates, cups and silverware more than anything else right now. Everything is in disarray, scattered boxes that lay half-unloaded, different various items scattered over every available surface. This disaster zone set Eddie and Sonia on edge, both of them fussy and neurotic by nature. The more they work to organize the room, the bigger the mess seems to grow, and the less Eddie thinks it’s likely that he’ll be able to go to Richie’s house at noon. His mom wasn’t likely to let him go when there was so much left to be done, and it wouldn’t be very nice of him to leave her to unpacking by herself anyway. Maybe, he thought, if they worked hard through the morning, she’d let him go out for a little break. He probably wouldn’t be able to stay over for more than an hour, but it was better than nothing.

 

In Eddie’s mind, this week was imperative for winning the Losers’ favor. If he could ensure their friendship by the start of the school year, then he wouldn’t be alone in the unfamiliar halls of Derry High, and might even have a table to sit at for lunch. If he couldn’t hang out with the others all week because of his mom’s over-protectiveness and the general state of his home, they would probably assume he didn’t like them, and in turn would dismiss him as an addition to their group. He couldn’t have that, not when he was so close to finally belonging. There were bound to be plenty of other kids to meet at Derry High, but Eddie already knew he wouldn’t fit in better than with kids who called themselves Losers. He’d even tell his mom white lies if it eased the process of getting to Richie’s this afternoon.

 

They eat breakfast when the waffle iron finally gets dislodged from one of the larger boxes, along with the batter mix. Eddie eats off of what he thinks might be a decorative cake plate, while Sonia uses a serving platter for herself. They drink tap water out of coffee mugs. When it creeps closer to noon, Eddie feels his nerves return. He’s grown accustomed to a certain degree of manipulating his mother over the years, learning how to phrase things and where to slip in a lie in order to get a favorable answer from her, but every time he had to do it he still felt an unpleasant churn in his gut. The feeling wasn’t so unpleasant that he’d ever stop, though. Eddie might feel worse about it if he were deceiving his mom to do nefarious things like going to parties with alcohol, or to go buy weed from a classmate at the park. The things he wanted to do were completely reasonable teenager things, like going to the public library by himself to study, or to the arcade for a couple games of Pacman. Eddie felt justified in his lies, even if they still made him a little nauseous.

 

“Hey ma,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual. They’re currently sitting on the tile floor, sorting out Sonia’s boxes of spices and canned goods. “How about a break?”

 

Sonia looks up from where she’s shuffling around a group of McCormick seasonings. She seems to contemplate his words for a moment. “If you’re tired, Eddie-bear, you can go rest.”

 

“It’s not that,” he says, “I’m just getting a little restless and thought you might be too. I wanted to go for a walk to look around, get my bearings.” He hopes his words land the way he wants them to.

 

Sonia’s brow furrows just slightly, as if her reflex is to immediately to refuse her son. Then she seems to realize that the request is too reasonable to argue, and, when her expression changes to a pleased one, she's probably happy that Eddie is showing any interest in Derry at all. Better to encourage him to enjoy the town than to shut him away. After all, it had been Sonia who had said the fresh air would be good for Eddie.

 

“I think I’ll stay in here and finish my sorting,” she says, “but you go on your little walk. Just put on your sunscreen and make sure to take your phone and your aspirator with you.”

 

“I will, ma,” Eddie replies with a small smile, trying not to seem overeager. He leans across the space between them to peck her cheek before getting up and going upstairs.

 

Eddie puts on a thin layer of sunscreen in case his mom hugs him later and smells it on him, then throws his things into a fanny pack and heads back downstairs. “Bye, ma!” he calls over his shoulder without waiting for her reply.

 

The walk to Richie’s house leaves Eddie a little more anxious than he thought it would. What if they had just been polite yesterday by inviting him over, and didn’t really want him there? What if it was some kind of prank at his expense? What if he’d misheard Beverly yesterday and he was about to show up to Richie’s house unannounced? Richie seemed nice enough that he’d probably invite Eddie inside regardless. He wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable hanging out alone with Richie, at least not yet. It felt like a better idea to get to know him in a group setting where he could be tempered by his friends when necessary.

 

Eddie’s feet carried him all the way up the driveway and to the imposing oak door of Richie’s house. From this close up, the pale grey house was definitely a nicer quality than Eddie’s. The door was solid and ornate, and there was a gaudy metal knocker on its face. Eddie didn’t use the knocker, instead rapping his knuckles on the door and hoping someone would hear him. A glance at his watch informed him that it was 12:15. He was late.

 

The door opened to reveal none other than Richie, who was wearing a very similar outfit to the one he wore yesterday, sans the obnoxious shoes. In their place was a pair of colorful socks with palm trees all over them. He grinned his Cheshire cat grin when his eyes met Eddie’s.

 

“Eds! Just the man I was hoping to see! Come in!” Richie side steps with a flourish, and Eddie hesitantly walks through the doorway. Richie shuts the door behind him.

 

For some reason, Eddie had assumed Richie’s house would look a lot like Richie himself, the same garish colors and clashing prints, but it was all muted shades of grey and brown, just like the exterior. The furnishings could even be considered _tasteful_ , an old grandfather clock stands to one side in the foyer, a stout bookshelf to the other side that’s decorated with different family photos, a small stack of mail resting on top of it. The rooms Eddie could see into beyond this one were dimly lit, or not lit at all.

 

Richie seems to stand there watching Eddie look around before gesturing up the stairs. “The others are already here, let’s not leave ‘em waiting too long, eh old chap?” The cockney accent is absolutely horrible, the sound of it grating Eddie’s nerves almost immediately. He makes a face, which only seems to encourage Richie, who offers his elbow as if Eddie would ever dream of taking it.

 

“Let’s just go…” he says, in the same tone of voice he uses when his mom is embarrassing him. Only Richie isn’t embarrassing Eddie, he’s embarrassing himself, and that’s somehow just as bad.

 

“Right-o,” Richie says in the same cheery voice, before leading them up the stairs. Eddie can’t tell if he’s oblivious to how terrible his jokes are, or if he’s just dedicated to annoying the shit out of other people. He seems self-aware enough that it’s probably the latter.

 

The two boys arrive at the top of the stairs, where Eddie can suddenly make out the muffled sound of several voices mingling together. Richie takes an abrupt right turn and goes all the way down the hall to a door at the end. The door itself has one of those cliché caution signs hung on it, this particular one reading “MESSY BEDROOM: ENTER AT OWN RISK”. Eddie snorts as they shuffle down the hall towards the room, which makes Richie look over his shoulder with a smile.

 

“You like that? My mom got it for me as a way of telling me my bedroom is a nightmare, but I thought it was hilarious, so I hung it on the door. Now everyone has a proper warning.” Eddie sincerely hopes that Richie is one of those people whose concept of “messy” is just some clutter on the furniture, maybe some shirts and pants strewn across the floor. From all that he’s gathered about Richie so far, along with that little story, he doubts it and braces himself for the worst.

 

Richie pulls the door open with the muted scrape of wood dragging over carpet, revealing both the most heinously messy room Eddie has ever seen, and the other Losers. All five kids are sitting in various positions around the room, Bev and Stan perched on Richie’s unmade bed, Bill sitting at the desk chair with a thick notebook in his lap, and Ben and who Eddie assumes must be Mike both seated on the floor. They all look up from their respective activities, whatever conversation they were having halted for the moment. Richie lets Eddie come inside first before shutting the door behind them.

 

“Hey, Eddie,” Beverly says with a smile, her dimples framing either side of her mouth like parenthesis. Eddie immediately feels a little more relaxed. Bill, Stan, and Ben all offer verbal and nonverbal greetings as well, and Mike sticks his hand out at Eddie from his spot on the floor.

 

“Would stand up to properly make your acquaintance, but I’m in the middle of fixing Richie’s speakers,” he says, his tone friendly and slightly apologetic. Eddie notices the large stereo that rests in Mike’s lap, facing downward on his legs as he apparently is taking apart the mechanisms in the back, a screwdriver held in his other hand.

 

Eddie takes Mike’s offered hand and shakes it, smiling genuinely. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Richie steps around Eddie and takes a spot near Bill’s legs. Eddie realizes that there’s a can of coke resting there, which must’ve been where Richie had been sitting before the knock at the door. For lack of a better option, Eddie takes a seat on the floor beside Mike, his back almost resting against the door.

 

“Now that everyone’s here,” Richie says, “care to get us started, Big Bill?”

 

Started on what? Eddie guessed it might have to do with the notebook that Bill was now lifting up in his hands, thumbing through the worn pages.

 

“O-okay,” Bill says, eyes scanning over whatever page he’s seemed to stop on. “We need to b-b-brainstorm for our entry in th-the Derry Film F-f-festival.” He looks over at Eddie suddenly, realizing that he probably doesn’t know what the hell is going on. “I don’t know if y-you’ve seen the s-s-signs around t-town yet, but Derry has a film f-f-festival every fall, where citizens c-can enter their original short films.”

 

“There are a couple categories you can win, and we’re going to try to enter an animated film since there’s less competition,” Stan says honestly, shrugging. “And anyway, it’s not like any of us want to perform in a live-action movie.”

 

“Winner for an animated film gets $500,” Richie adds, eyes glinting. “It’s gonna go towards our big Spring Break road trip.”

 

“W-we need all the help we c-c-can get, if you want t-to work on it with us,” Bill says.

 

Eddie blinks, taking in what they’re all talking about. “Oh, that’s really cool. What do you have so far?”

 

Bill looks back down at the notebook, sighing. “N-not much, honestly. I’ve got a couple character d-d-d-designs that Bev helped me with, but as f-far as plot…”

 

“I could help with that,” Eddie says immediately, before his brain can catch up with his mouth. “I write. A lot. I could at least offer some ideas.” He’s too swept up in his sudden excitement to remember all the English teachers who looked down on him for writing his stories. Maybe this was a chance to finally make use of one of them, repurpose it for Bill’s characters.

 

The Losers all look pleasantly surprised by Eddie’s offer. “Lay it on us, Spaghetti,” Richie invites.

 

“God, don’t call me that. I think I hate it more than Eds,” Eddie says, scrunching up his nose in distaste. Richie only beams in return.

 

“Gotcha! Eds from now on!” Several of the others groan along with Eddie at this.

 

“What are s-s-some of your ideas?” Bill asks encouragingly. “If we end up adapting one of them, w-we’ll share s-s-some of the money with you.”

 

“Or you can come with us on the road trip,” Richie offers. Bev shoots him a look from the bed, her eyebrow raised, to which Richie only shrugs before taking a drink from his coke.

 

Eddie is flustered. He’s never had anyone ask about his stories with genuine interest before, and yet he now has the rapt attention of five kids, except for Mike who has resumed messing with the stereo but is no doubt still listening. Slowly, hesitantly, Eddie starts listing off some of his favorite plots, keeping them simple since the animated film will probably be short. Sometimes he’ll mention something that Bill likes, and he jots it down on a clean page of the notebook, and other times Ben or Richie will run with a concept and change it into something new and different. The air in the room feels so charged with creative energy, Eddie gets a little lightheaded.

 

“Wow,” Richie says after Eddie finishes listing his concepts, “we’ve really hit a creative goldmine here, huh? Eddie is a little fountain of ideas.”

 

“We?” Bev asks, scoffing. “If I remember, you were content to just hooting and hollering at him from a distance. _I’m_ the only one who actually approached him. Eddie, when you’re famous someday I hope you remember that it was _me_ and not _us_ that discovered you.”

 

Eddie flushes with embarrassment. “Famous? Sure…” It was absurd, even for a joke. Eddie was more likely to become a pharmacist than a writer, much less a famous one.

 

“You _do_ know you’re talented, right?” Stan asks, raising a brow. “We’ve been at this for two weeks, and every idea you’ve just shared has blown ours out of the water.”

 

Bill looks a little indignant. “Some of my ideas were p-p-pretty good…”

 

“Your writing is kinda…ramble-y, Big Bill,” Richie says apologetically. “It’s good and all, but maybe not for a short film format. Eds’ stuff is more dynamic and action-y.”

 

“Yeah, that’s true…” Bill concedes, looking down at the notebook. There were probably two pages filled with ideas that he’d liked, either from Eddie or Ben, maybe even a couple of the less raunchy ones from Richie. “I think we’re on the right t-t-track now.”

 

“I could try to write something with the short film in mind, if you want,” Eddie offers. “It might take a few days, but it’ll fit the medium a little better than something meant for comic books.”

 

Richie’s eyes are almost comically wide. “You write for comic books? Wait, like seriously or is it fanfiction?”

 

“Why, do you have an Ao3 account?” Eddie counters, his face still warm.

 

“You know it, only place I can find that sweet Papa Smurf/Captain Kirk content,” Richie fires back, just as quick.

 

Eddie shakes his head. “I want to actually write Marvel comics someday. Not fanfiction.”

 

“That’s such a cool career path,” Ben says in awe, at the same time Richie says “Bitchin’”.

"If you c-could write something for the f-f-film, that'd be awesome, Eddie," Bill interjects, trying to keep them on-topic.

 

Mike finally snaps the back panel on the stereo and sets it upright. “Let’s see if that did it…” he mutters, clicking on the power switch. An AC/DC song comes blaring to life immediately, and Mike turns the volume back down to a bearable level as Richie pumps his fists and whoops in joy.

 

“Mike, my man, I could kiss you!” Richie cheers, taking the stereo back from Mike’s outstretched hands. “My parents would be so pissed if they knew I broke this.”

 

“How about you don’t kiss me and we call it even?” Mike asks good-naturedly with a chuckle.

 

“You’re no fun,” Richie replies, feigning disappointment. He fiddles with the buttons on the speakers until they fall silent again, and gently sets it aside.

 

“S-so, now that we’ve gotten through the f-f-first two orders of business, Rich’s stereo and p-p-p-possible plots for our movie, what should we do?”

 

“Ice cream!” Richie and Bev say in unison. Ben shrugs at the suggestion, and Mike nods in agreement.

 

Eddie looks down at his watch and grimaces. They had been talking for over an hour now. His mom would probably be suspicious if he had ventured off on his own for much longer. His walks had never been for more than an hour and a half before.

 

“Actually, I should probably get going,” he says grudgingly. The others look as disappointed as he feels, which is encouraging in a weird way. They don’t want him to leave either.

 

“Does your carriage turn back into a pumpkin if you stay out for more than an hour, Cinderella?” Richie asks curiously.

 

“I left my mom alone to unpack the kitchen, is all,” Eddie says. “It would be kind of a dick move to go out for ice cream while she’s moving things around by herself.”

 

“Ah, I see. Your mom.” Richie nods. “She single?”

 

“Beep beep, Trashmouth.”

 

Eddie stands up to leave, the others also rise from their seats to make the journey downstairs and out into the heat of the afternoon that awaits them. Eddie is closest to the door so he steps out first, followed closely by Mike and Ben, the rest falling behind them in a random order. When all seven of them get outside and Richie locks the door behind himself, they exchange goodbyes.

 

“It was nice meeting you, Eddie,” Mike says. “I don’t know how much we’ll see of each other, considering I live across town and have a lot of chores to take care of day to day, but I hope we can hang out again soon.”

 

“You too, Mike. I hope we can,” Eddie replies. He’s relieved that Mike is just as easy to be around as the other Losers, his calm and easygoing nature helping to soothe Eddie’s constantly frantic nerves.

 

“Do you have a phone?” Bev asks suddenly. “If you do, it’ll probably be easier for us to meet up again if we can just call or text you.”

 

Eddie’s hand immediately goes to the zipper of his fanny pack, and he pulls out his cheap little phone to give over to Bev’s waiting hands. She starts entering her number into a new contact entry while Richie cackles.

 

“Oh my _fucking_ god, you’re wearing a fanny pack. Holy shit. How did I not notice it until now?” He looks at Stan and then Ben with an expression that says “can you believe this guy? Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” “You cannot get any cuter, Eds.”

 

Eddie’s heart does strange things at Richie’s words. That’s the second time he’s called him cute. He thought maybe he’d heard Richie wrong yesterday, but apparently not. Richie’s voice sounds a little too sincere to _quite_ be teasing, but Eddie still feels the tips of his ears burn.

 

“I am _not_ cute!” he growls. “I just don’t want to shove all my stuff into my pockets, sue me.”

 

“Don’t make me pinch those little cheeks, Eds. I’ll do it, you know.” Richie’s eyes glint mischievously.

 

“I _will_ kill you,” Eddie says like a promise. Richie is still giggling at the discovery of Eddie’s fanny pack, but he holds up his hands in temporary defeat.

 

“Text me later and I’ll send everyone else’s numbers,” Bev says, handing Eddie’s phone back with a smile. “We’ll all understand if you don’t want Richie’s, though.”

 

“Boo,” Richie says. “I’m _irresistible_. Eventually Eds will have to give in and text me.”

 

“Yeah, don’t count on it,” Eddie says flatly, and Bill snickers. “See you guys around.”

 

“Next time we just might kidnap you and take you along with us,” Richie calls after him, and it sounds like a warning, but Eddie doesn’t think he’d mind that in the slightest.


	3. Chapter 3

In Eddie’s experience, summer vacation was a welcome break from studying, projects, and the nightmare of standardized tests, but it was not exactly full of excitement as most kids’ were. When Eddie was younger, his family made a point of going on one big trip every year, a tradition Sonia tried to keep going after his father’s death. As Eddie got older and Sonia became less mobile, though, it had dwindled to maybe a couple day trips here and there, and then died out altogether. Eddie didn’t mind that much. He spent most summers reading books now, or going to the arcade or comic store whenever he was allowed. Sonia tended to be more lenient during summertime, letting Eddie out of her sight more often than she ever did during the school year. This summer had been the most eventful in a long time, and that had mostly been because they were making a move to another town. Now it was because Eddie met the Losers.

 

Beverly, true to her word, sent the others’ numbers to Eddie. He saved each of them to his phone and sent everyone a message to make sure he had it right, even Richie, who immediately sent a long line of emojis that Eddie’s flip-phone couldn’t decipher. Bill informed him that the group was planning to meet down at the quarry to swim on Tuesday if Eddie wanted to catch a ride there with Richie, but Eddie knew immediately that that was not going to happen. It would take time and effort to get Sonia on board with Eddie going places with his new friends, and he hadn’t even started laying the groundwork for that yet. He reluctantly replied that he couldn’t make it, and a minute later Richie sent a text that simply said:

 

**Richie:** _:(_

 

Beverly told Eddie she’d try to keep him updated on what they were going to do after the quarry in case he was free later.

 

Eddie spent the day trying to get his room organized instead of wallowing in his disappointment. He was pretty handy with tools out of both a genuine interest and necessity, because Sonia was hopeless when it came to home improvement projects, so his bedframe was more time-consuming than difficult to put together. After managing to get things assembled and arranged how he liked, Eddie was left to the monotonous work of folding and putting clothes away, stacking books and knick-knacks on his shelves, putting up posters on the walls, and setting other personal items out on his desk. Eddie worked with the same diligence with which he did most things; alphabetizing his books, arranging his hand sanitizer and backup inhalers on his bedside table, alongside a framed photo of himself as a toddler being held proudly between his parents, the three of them smiling. Eddie loves this picture for many reasons, but he supposed the biggest was how happy his mother looked. How happy, young, and hopeful.

 

It made Eddie a little guilty to admit that he used this photo to also remind himself that Sonia was only human, that even in the moments when he swore he hated her, he couldn’t bring himself to. He thought of her marrying for love at a young age and building her life around the expectation that her husband would be there, only to have him torn away from her far too young. He thought of Sonia, destroyed by the loss of her beloved Frank, left alone with a small child, and yet still putting in the effort to provide a good life for that child. Eddie’s mom must love him beyond his imagining, and he couldn’t stand to hate someone who loved him that much. He just wished with his entire being that she could love him _differently_ , that she didn’t have to keep him so impossibly close. It would make everything a lot easier.

 

Eddie was starting to decide how he would go about telling Sonia about the Losers, how best to time it and phrase it so that she’d accept them. _Stomach_ them. He decided that maybe it would be wisest to wait until the school year started, and then explain that one of the friends he’d made just so happened to live down the street. Then, he’d introduce everyone to her, and pray that Richie didn’t say anything _too_ horrible. Maybe he’d demand that Richie not say anything at all beforehand, even though he already knew that would be an impossible request. Richie was the exact kind of kid whom Sonia would hate, regardless of how nice he actually was, or how smart. His grating personality, which Eddie found almost endearing (although he’d never admit that), was what Sonia would hyper-focus on, and the rest didn’t matter.

 

It wasn’t really about getting Sonia to _like_ the Losers, it was about her tolerating them enough to allow Eddie to see them without waging war every time he brought them up. He wished, not for the first time, that he could have a normal mother who handled things reasonably. Then, as always, he immediately felt guilty for wishing that.

 

Maybe another way to go about his dilemma was to ask the Losers themselves about it. They seemed like understanding people, they’d probably be sympathetic to Eddie’s situation, maybe even empathize with him. For all he knew, some of them had overbearing parents, too.

 

After Eddie worked himself into a stomachache over the details of getting permission to have friends, he decided to start playing with ideas for the short film. It was exciting to have a real project to sink his teeth into. Up until now it had just been Eddie’s free reign over what plot he wanted to explore, which characters to delve deeper into. This was much more focused, and more of a challenge, too. Eddie sat at his desk and started to scribble out a chart of options. He’d list things that sounded good to him: genres, settings, and endings, and then present them to the Losers the next time they saw each other, whenever that was. He wrote down things like: superheroes, romance, comedy, tragedy, horror, sci fi, fantasy, and continued his lists until his phone started buzzing against the wood of Eddie’s bedside table. Had it been on his bed, Eddie wouldn’t have even noticed.

 

Nobody called or texted Eddie except his mom or his grandma, who only called on his birthday and Christmas. Today was neither of those days. Eddie immediately got up and snatched the device off the table, sitting on the edge of his bed to read the new message, hoping it was from Bev. It was.

 

 **Beverly:** _Hey :)_ _We’re heading back from the quarry now. There’s talk of a movie night at Bill’s, if you’re interested?_

 

Eddie bit his lip. He really wanted to go, but he knew his mom would probably say no. He’d wanted to plan things out, be patient about acclimating Sonia to the idea of the Losers before branching out to group activities like swims in the quarry and movie nights at Bill’s house, but he also _didn’t_ want to spend his last week of summer vacation miserable because he knew he could be having fun with his friends but was kept inside, away from them.

 

 **Eddie:** _I don’t know. I’ll text you when I have a definite answer._

 

His phone really wasn’t made for texting, but Eddie was determined to punch out each word in its entirety. A second message came before he’d finished replying to Bev’s.

 

**Richie:** _Eds! Pls say you’re coming??? I will make good on my promise to kidnap you._

 

Of fucking course. Eddie rolls his eyes. Richie’s texts so far have been riddled with a lack of punctuation and a frequent usage of acronyms, but at least he’d stopped using the emjois that didn’t show up on Eddie’s phone after he’d explained it to Richie that sending them was both annoying and a waste of time.

 

 **Eddie:** _I just told Bev that I don’t know. What’s it to you, anyway?_

 

 **Richie:** _I happen to like you, ya dork. We all like you. Come watch stupid movies with us. It’s not the end of the world. I’ll even personally drive you to and from, in my shitty rust bucket of a car, if that’s an issue. Barely runs tbh but we don’t have to tell your mom that part_

 

Eddie feels his chest tighten at the first sentence, regardless of getting called a dork. Even through the flat medium of text, Eddie knew that it was meant as a term of endearment. That Richie was even endeared to Eddie at all was a bizarre concept. He smiled in spite of himself.

 

 **Eddie:** _It’s a bit more complicated than that, sorry. I’ll keep you updated, but no promises._

 

 **Richie:** _Would it help if I came and talked to her? I could put my moves on her real smooth, we could maybe get in a quickie, and then you’ll be all mine for the evening ;)_

 

Just like that, the brief wave of affection for Richie vanished. Of course he would have to ruin the moment. Even when he had to think of something, type it out, and send it, Richie had absolutely no filter. Before Eddie could begin painstakingly typing out his irritated response, another message arrived just a second after the previous one.

 

 **Richie:** _Seriously though, I could come over after I change my clothes and talk to your mom. I won’t even use dirty talk, promise._

 

Eddie couldn’t deny that having someone come talk to Sonia would probably help put her at ease over the situation, but he wished that it could be someone like Bill or Stan. Someone a bit more visibly trustworthy than Richie Tozier, whose unkempt appearance and perpetually-joking disposition didn’t quite qualify him. In spite of that, Eddie was willing to hope it would work. He would take a chance on Richie.

 

He meticulously drafts his message, hoping to convey the significance of what Richie was doing:

 

 **Eddie:** _Listen carefully. You said you like me, right? You wanna be able to hang out with me more? Don’t fuck this up. I mean it. My mom is super overbearing and if she doesn’t like you or think she can trust you, she won’t let me hang out with any of you ever again. So, only come over if you think you can talk to her without fucking it up. Got it? No fucking it up._

 

He feels a little weird, admitting to his mother’s controlling behavior, especially over a text. He isn’t even sure how Richie, someone who never really takes things seriously, will handle this. Maybe this whole idea was a lost cause before it began.

 

 **Richie:** _Gotcha. No fucking it up. I’ll be there at 7:00_

 

Eddie has no way of gauging Richie’s tone from the short message he sends, so all that’s left to do is wait. It’s currently 4:30, so Eddie has two and a half hours to figure out how he’s going to pitch the idea to his mom. Maybe she’ll appreciate that Eddie’s new friends are polite enough to introduce themselves to her? Unlikely. Sonia is so rarely appreciative.

 

Eddie busies himself with clearing away the empty moving boxes left in his room, and then he pads around the house and makes himself useful. He sweeps up the dust down the hallways downstairs, then sits crisscross applesauce in front of the TV so he can set it up. He’d heard Sonia cursing over it earlier that morning, when she’d thought he was still asleep and therefor couldn’t hear her. Eddie was experienced with this sort of thing, and he knew that if he could get it working before 7:00, it might be enough to distract Sonia while he was gone.

 

Sonia was in the kitchen, where she’d spent most of the day. The steady metal banging Eddie had been hearing informed him that she had moved on from organizing the pantry to storing the pots and pans in the cabinets. Eddie focused on attaching all the appropriate wires in the correct order and adjusting the television screen itself to the perfect angle as viewed from Sonia’s chair. He used the remote to make sure that everything was working correctly before turning it all off again and setting the device on the armrest of the chair. Once the living room seemed to be in order for the time being, Eddie hesitantly peeked into the kitchen.

 

“Hey, ma…?”

 

Sonia had her back facing Eddie, but no doubt heard his soft question. She had bat-like hearing, which was wasted on a son who never snuck out anywhere.

 

“Yes dear?” she asked, making room in one of the lower cabinets for a large skillet.

 

Eddie leaned uncomfortably against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. He glances at the tacky cat-shaped clock Sonia already has hung on the far wall. It was nearly 6:00. “I was just wondering when dinner was?”

 

Sonia wiped her already-clean hands off on a dishtowel before looking at the clock. “Goodness, I hadn’t realized it was so late. I’ll get to dinner in just a minute. How do pork chops sound?”

 

“Fine,” Eddie says agreeably. Sonia nods before returning to the pots and pans, now putting them away hastier than before.

 

Dinner is mostly quiet, as usual. Eddie doesn’t really have a lot to talk about unless school is in session. He keeps glancing at the clock, waiting for the right moment to oh-so casually broach the subject.

 

“So…” he says, pushing some rice around on his plate. “Yesterday, I met one of our neighbors on my walk.”

 

Sonia visibly perks up at this. “Oh, really?” She looks neither curious nor pleased, necessarily, but she also doesn’t look outright _unhappy_. Suspicious is the most accurate way to describe both her tone and expression.

 

“Yeah. Their kid, actually. He’s my age.”

 

“Did he do anything to you?” Sonia asks. Of course she’d assume the worst.

 

“No, no. He’s actually really nice. We got along,” Eddie pauses. It’s now or never. “His name is Richie Tozier. He invited me to watch movies at his friend Bill’s house with some other kids tonight.”

 

Sonia studies Eddie from behind her pair of thick-lensed, wire-frame glasses. She seems to wonder if she’s ever heard the name Tozier before. “Is he related to Wentworth Tozier?” she asks.

 

“Could be his dad?” Eddie supposes out loud.

 

“Wentworth was a classmate of mine, and he was always polite and well-organized. I think he’s a dentist now.”

 

“Ma, I wanted to know if I could go with Richie to Bill’s house.” Eddie could already anticipate the impending barrage of questions.

 

“What’s Bill’s full name?”

 

“Bill Denbrough.”

 

“Who else is going to be there?”

 

“Stanley Uris, Ben Hanscom, and Mike Hanlon.” Sorry, Bev. It would just complicate things more if Eddie was going out after dark to a place where a _girl_ would be. “They’re all the same age as me.”

 

“Will there be adults present?”

 

“Yes, Bill’s parents will be there.” He had no idea if that was true or not.

 

Sonia looks pensive. “I just don’t know about this, Eddie…what if these boys are just playing a joke on you?”

 

“Richie offered to come over here and talk to you, if that would help settle your nerves?” Eddie said with the uncertainty of a question, trying not to be offended that Sonia found it more believable that a group of boys would pull a cruel prank on him than invite him to hang out.

 

“Hm,” Sonia says, considering Eddie’s words. “Alright. But I’m not making any promises.”

 

“Thank you,” Eddie says immediately.

 

They clear the dishes away in silence and Eddie shows Sonia the functioning TV, which seems to please her a great deal. The stage is officially set, all Richie has to do is be polite and they’ll be as good as on their way to Bill’s.

 

To Eddie’s surprise, Richie shows up promptly at 7:00. He supposes it’s hard to be late when you live right down the street, but Richie seems like the type to just show up at whatever time he feels like. Maybe Eddie is just making random assumptions at this point.

 

“Ta-da,” he says in a sing-song voice when Eddie answers the door. Richie is dressed in something a human being might wear, a tropical print t-shirt with a jean jacket worn over it. Eddie is impressed, until he looks down and sees the same colorful sneakers he was wearing when they first met. His hair is a little frizzier than usual too, probably because he swam, let the sun bake it dry, and then didn’t shower when he got home. Disgusting.

 

“Get in here,” Eddie grumbles. “And remember what we talked about.”

 

“Best behavior,” Richie promises, in what might be an assuring voice if he was anyone but Richie.

 

Eddie is surprised once again when Richie meets with Sonia and is not only civil, but downright _respectful_. Sonia doesn’t seem fully convinced of Richie’s charm, but he gives her all the right answers and calls her “ma’am”, so she ultimately relents and allows Richie to take Eddie with him to Bill’s house. On the promise that Eddie would take his phone and all other necessities with him, and that he be home by 11:00, of course.

 

Eddie thanks Sonia with a tight hug and pulls Richie by the arm out the door before she has a chance to change her mind. Richie allows himself to be towed all the way out to the street, an amused smile on his face.

 

“How’d I do?”

 

“You were great, actually,” Eddie says earnestly. It’s definitely the nicest thing he’s said to Richie in the two days they’ve known each other. “Thank you.”

 

Richie gives him an odd look as they make their way to his car, still smiling. “No thanks necessary, Eds. I get it. A lot of the other Losers have difficult parents, too. If I can finesse your mom into letting you come hang out, I’ll do it.”

 

Eddie realizes that he’s vastly misjudged the depth of Richie, like swimming in a lake and realizing that the bottom has dropped out beneath your feet. He feels stupid and a little ashamed for even presuming that Richie was a shallow person, only capable of terrible jokes and bad accents.

 

“I’ll get her guard down…court her, nice and slow…and then we’re going to have crazy, freaky, balls to the wall sex. And then her mind will be too blown to give a shit about who you’re hanging out with. Simple.”

 

…then again.

 

“You’ve got a serious Oedipus complex…” Eddie says, but it isn’t as biting as it otherwise would be, because he’s still feeling grateful to Richie for helping him convince his mom. It feels a little unreal, even, to be allowed to be out this late without adult supervision.

 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Richie asks in exaggerated shock, digging a set of keys out of his jacket pocket, “Is Eddie “I’ll Kill You” Kaspbrak losing his edge? Are you getting soft on me?”

 

Eddie walks around the car to the passenger side, where Richie can no longer see his face. “No.”

 

_Maybe._

 

“It’s okay to admit it, you know. Everyone eventually falls a little bit in love with me.” Richie has to work to wrench the driver’s side door open, because it apparently sticks pretty badly. The passenger’s side door only groans on its rusted hinges when Eddie pulls it open. He puts on his seatbelt immediately.

 

“You’re also a narcissist,” Eddie mutters, feeling his gratitude for Richie quickly being shaved away every time the other boy opened his mouth.

 

Richie pulls the rearview mirror down to pretend to admire his reflection, going so far as to blow himself a kiss. Then he looks over at Eddie in mock curiosity. “Huh? You say something?”

 

Eddie can’t help the laugh that bubbles up out of his throat. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, trying to cover his mouth. “We need to go before we’re late.”

 

Richie’s smile lingers on Eddie until his laughter has died down, and then he pulls away from the curb and heads down the street, presumably towards Bill’s house. Eddie sits quietly in the pleasant feeling of independence. Or pseudo-independence.

 

When they pulled up to the first red light on their way, Richie reached over and cranked on the radio. Eddie expected a blaring volume, but Richie kept it low like a hum. “I like background noise,” he replied to Eddie’s unasked question. “I don’t need it distracting me, though. I’ve already almost had an accident since I got my license.” This part is said sheepishly.

 

“Competent driver, my ass,” Eddie mumbles, tugging his seatbelt tighter as he remembers all the things Richie had told Sonia that were probably embellished to hell and back.

 

“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the total truth, but I still like to think I’m a pretty decent driver,” Richie replies, focusing on the traffic flow. “Derry’s an old town. The traffic lights and signs are old, too. We even have a few intersections where people just say fuck it, and make up their own rules.” Richie turns onto a residential street, which would suggest that they’re nearing their destination. “And I technically haven’t crashed, yet. _Almost_ crashing is not the same as _actually_ crashing.”

 

“ _Yet?_ ” Eddie laughs. “Shouldn’t you speak confidently, like you _aren’t_ gonna get in a wreck?”

 

“Hey, I’m just being realistic,” Richie shrugs. “I know I seem like the perfect man, but I’ve got flaws just like anyone else.”

 

“You’re _so_ humble,” Eddie scoffs, smiling despite rolling his eyes. Richie grins at him.

 

They ride in comfortable silence until they roll up to what must be Bill’s house. He answers the door, wearing sweatpants and a baggy sleep shirt, his wet auburn hair looking almost black. Bill smiles when he sees Eddie, who thinks he’s never seen such a nice smile before.

 

“You really did m-m-manage to bring h-h-him,” he says to Richie, sounding impressed.

 

“I said I would,” Richie replies, clapping Eddie on the shoulder before brushing past Bill and into the house, Eddie following close behind.

 

“W-we’re all glad you could make it,” Bill says, lingering in the foyer with Eddie while Richie waltzes off to the living room like he owns the place. Eddie can hear the mingled laughter of the other Losers from the other room.

 

“Me too,” Eddie says. He can’t shake the smile on his face. It feels like every time he’s around the Losers he feels lighter, happy, more childlike.

 

“Well, c-c-come on, loser. They’ll wreak havoc in there if w-w-we’re not there to m-m-mediate.”

 

There’s a very intentional connotation to what Bill just said, and it made Eddie’s heart flutter. That was it. He was a part of the group. A small voice in the back of his mind echoed the words he’d told Richie earlier:

 

_Don’t fuck it up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always forget to do this when I post a new fic, but if you wanna hit me up on tumblr for whatever reason, my url is warlike-god


	4. Chapter 4

Once snacks get sorted out in the kitchen and two arguments are resolved with only minimal popcorn throwing, the Losers all return to the living room and figure out their seating arrangements with a series of light bickering, and rock paper scissors matches. It ends with Bev, Eddie, and Ben on the sofa, Mike in the armchair, and Stan, Richie, and Bill spaced out on the floor. They watch two really terrible horror movies back-to-back before Eddie has to leave. He hadn’t realized it until Richie also stood to leave that he was cutting the other boy’s night short too, and felt a little guilty about it. Bill walked them both to the door with a tired smile and waved to their retreating backs from his doorway.

 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, unable to keep the word from slipping out once they climb back into Richie’s car. “You probably wanted to stay later.”

 

“Nah,” Richie says in a casual voice. “My folks get antsy if I’m out too late, and they wouldn’t let me stay over at Bill’s tonight because I really need to clean my room tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, no shit,” Eddie scoffs, thinking of the absolute disgrace that is Richie’s room. “You might be better off just torching it and starting over from scratch.”

 

“You sound like my mom,” Richie says, not unfondly. “You two should meet sometime, you’d probably get along famously.” The last word is spoken with a weird almost-southern drawl to it.

 

“Look, just because you’ve got the hots for my mom doesn’t mean I feel the same about yours, creep.”

 

“Oh, my god,” Richie says, smacking himself in the forehead. “Why hadn’t this occurred to me before, Eds? A double date!” He gasps. “ _A double wedding_.”

 

“Because just fuck your dad, right?” Eddie is smiling in spite of himself at the absurdity of this conversation, which is only getting worse as they continue talking.

 

“Jeez, Eddie. You’re already _marrying_ my mom, no need to get greedy.”

 

Eddie has to laugh at that, and it is punctuated by an extremely embarrassing snort. He cups a hand over his mouth. “Okay, I’m officially retiring this conversation. We’re done talking about being attracted to each other’s parents.”

 

Richie grins over at Eddie as they roll up to a stop sign, with that very _particular_ glint in his eye that is becoming increasingly common whenever he looks at him. It fills Eddie with a strange sense of confusion, so he turns his head to look out the passenger window. Portland, like all big cities, came alive at night with all its glittering lights and crowded streets. Derry is very dark at night, lit only by street lamps and the four gas stations that remained open 24/7. There aren’t even that many other cars on the road.

 

“What’s that one Lonely Island song? It’s stuck in my head now,” Richie stays stopped at the sign, even though the road is totally clear for them to turn onto, and pulls out his phone to start scrolling around. In a few moments, he breaks into a triumphant smile and plugs the aux cord into the device, adjusting the volume on his radio and finally pulling onto the empty road as the song begins. “[’Motherlover’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X0DeIqJm4vM), that’s the one.”

 

Eddie has only heard perhaps two _The Lonely Island_ songs before in his life, and “Motherlover” is neither of these. When the lyrics come in Eddie cannot control the cackle that escapes him, a mixture of hysteria and pure revulsion. “ _Nooo_ ,” he wheezes, unable to even reach over and turn the radio off in his current state. Richie hears his protests and turns the volume up instead so he can sing along, seeming to forget that he’s a distractible driver who shouldn’t be allowed to have impromptu car concerts. By some miracle, the two of them make it back in one piece, and Eddie is home 15 minutes before his curfew.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the week goes by with success, more or less. Eddie is honest with his mom about where he’s going, and she seems to be coming around to the idea of him being friends with this strange group of Derry kids. On Wednesday, both Stan and Richie come to Eddie’s front door to greet Sonia before they take Eddie to the Aladdin Theater for the first time to waste quarters at the abysmally small arcade. Some of the plans fall through. On Thursday, Eddie can’t go with Bill, Bev, and Stan to the outlet mall because Sonia needed him to stay home and help her put the finishing touches on their home, which involved some heavy lifting and the assembling of furniture. On Friday, Eddie is able to read comic books at Richie’s house for an hour, and on Saturday he goes to the library with Ben in the morning before Sonia drags him to the store to go back to school shopping. The Losers all text him on the days they don’t get to hang out.

 

When Sunday rolled around, Eddie was more excited than he was nervous. With six friends in his grade, there was a good possibility that he would have at least one of them in one of his classes. He stayed up a little late texting Richie, who unsurprisingly had not changed his night owl sleep schedule in time for school by going to bed and waking up earlier over the past few days. Eddie fell asleep somewhere around midnight, and awoke to several texts from Richie that were time stamped anywhere from 12:00AM to 3:00AM. He read over them in the few moments he had before he would have to get up and dressed for the day. Richie had wished him good night pretty soon after he’d fallen asleep, at 12:13AM, then continued sending a couple scattered messages, and finally sent “okay good night for real xoxo” at 2:52AM. Eddie smiled to himself and snapped his device shut before hauling himself out of bed.

 

Sonia had bought Eddie new clothes for school, most of them horrible and not his taste at all. Over the years, he’d been forming his own personal style, one that might not be very exciting or trendy, but certainly not one that coincided with his mother’s vision for him. Sometimes Eddie could sneak in a t-shirt he liked, or a jacket, if there was some sort of sale or deal going on at the store. Those were the clothes he wore the most, much to his mother’s chagrin. If he wanted to butter her up, he’d swallow his repulsion, tuck a polo shirt into some khaki shorts, and comb his naturally wavy hair into sleek compliance. Today, Eddie dug out a plain shirt and put a hoodie on over it, along with jeans and his favorite pair of sneakers. It was a boring outfit, but boring was good because Eddie was already going to get singled out at school, no doubt. New kids, as the other Losers had explained, were a very rare commodity in Derry. The last thing Eddie needed was to stand out even more than he already would.

 

Sonia always made a big production of Eddie’s first day of school. When he came downstairs she had already laid out a spread of food on the kitchen table, more than even a teenaged boy appetite could handle. It looked like those morning scenes from cliché high school movies, where the protagonist grabs a piece of toast, or an orange, and runs out of the house because they’re late. What a waste.

 

After eating enough to appease Sonia, Eddie grabs his lunch bag off the counter, places it in his backpack, and heads eagerly for the door, his mother shuffling just one step after him to wish him luck and a good day and any other nice thing she can tack on after that. When Eddie gets the door open, he almost walks right into Richie.

 

“Oh,” Eddie says, for lack of anything more eloquent to say. “Hey.”

 

“Mornin’,” Richie replies cheerfully enough. Eddie cannot fathom how someone who, at most, has had four or five hours of sleep could look as alert as Richie does, yet he does. The dark circles under his eyes are the only physical evidence of his late night. He’s wearing his trademark rainbow sneakers, which are, somehow, the _least_ atrocious part of his outfit. Eddie wonders, briefly, what it would be like to have parents who don’t mind their child going out in public dressed in a shirt with obnoxiously bright lightning bolt print, with an over-shirt that’s covered in dinosaurs. It’s ridiculous, offensive, and somehow just another charming aspect of Richie. “Good morning, Mrs. K.”

 

Eddie remembers then that Sonia has halted just behind him, no doubt sizing Richie up from over his shoulder. “Can we help you, Mr. Tozier?” she asks, suspicion already creeping into her voice.

 

“Actually, I was wondering if Eddie wanted a ride to school. I know there’s a bus stop nearby, but I figured we could at least carpool for the first week.” He smiles one of his less manic smiles, the one that he uses when he wants to be charming. Richie has many different smiles, and Eddie is already learning to decipher between their faint differences.

 

“Hm,” Sonia says, seeming to mull over the offer.

 

“We’d get to school earlier than the bus would too, so I’d also be able to show Eddie around a little,” Richie adds in the hopes that it’ll tip the scales in his favor.

 

“It’s okay with me,” Sonia says finally. “It’s up to Eddie whether he wants to or not.” She doesn’t say thank you. She never says thank you.

 

“I do,” Eddie says, like it’s even a question whether he wants to sit on a noisy, filthy bus with a bunch of strange kids, or in a slightly rickety old car with one of his friends. “Thanks, Rich.”

 

Richie nods and walks back down the walkway without another word, probably eager to get away from Sonia’s penetrating, scrutinizing stare. For all the inappropriate jokes he makes about Eddie’s mom, he must be able to sense that there is something very wrong with her, something that doesn’t sit well with him. She sometimes has that effect on people, especially kids Eddie’s age.

 

“Bye ma, I’ll be back right after school,” Eddie promises. When Sonia nods to him in return, he makes a break out the door, trying not to look like he’s too excited at the prospect of being out of her clutches for the next seven hours. Richie is waiting for him at the bottom of the driveway, and the two walk down the street to Richie’s car. It’s an overcast morning, and the heat has yet to set in, which makes Eddie thankful for his hoodie.

 

“You don’t have to drive me all week, you know,” Eddie says as soon as they start the ride to Derry High. “Just because we’re neighbors and you have a car doesn’t mean I can’t take the bus.”

 

“I know I don’t _have_ to,” Richie says, like it’s obvious. “I _want_ to. Up until this year, I’ve been riding that shitty bus to school. Trust me, it sucks.” He leans forward into the steering wheel when they get to the first stop sign on their route. Maybe he really _is_ tired, Eddie thinks, but just very good at hiding it. Richie turns his head to look at Eddie while the traffic passes in front of them, his cheek pressing into the top of the wheel. “Besides,” he says with a barely-there smile, “I want to be able to see your cute little mug in the morning in case we don’t have any classes together.”

 

“I’m _not_ cute,” Eddie snaps immediately. Over the course of the past week, Richie has called him cute several times. It throws Eddie off without fail every time he says it, but Eddie has learned by now that it’s more of a weird personal joke for Richie than it is genuine flirting. It _definitely_ isn’t flirting. Of course it isn’t.  Richie just knows it pisses Eddie off and likes to tease him.

 

“I actually wanna drive you for the year if your mom would let me,” Richie says, sitting upright to proceed on their route to the school and ignoring Eddie’s refutation completely, “but I figured we’d ease into the idea and just start slow with the first week, see how it goes. If I don’t get us into a wreck by Friday, then we might be able to, right?”

 

“Maybe,” Eddie says, immediately shifting from annoyance to quiet surprise. He isn’t entirely sure why Richie is so nice, especially to someone he only met a week ago. He hadn’t even bothered entertaining the idea that maybe it’s because Richie likes Eddie just as much as Eddie likes him, and that he can already feel that they’re going to be long-term friends. Eddie didn’t know that you could already know something like that about someone you just met, until he met the Losers.

 

“I’m trying to impress your mom,” Richie admits with a small laugh. “It’s not easy to be polite to someone who looks like they’re waiting for the first excuse to tell you to fuck off. I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up.”

 

“Try,” Eddie says, making it sound like an order, a warning, and a plea all at once. “Wait until she gets settled into the idea of you guys before you open your big mouth, okay?”

 

“No promises, Spaghetti,” Richie says in a sing-song voice, but Eddie is pretty sure he’s just saying that to irritate him.

 

“Ugh. That’s such an awful thing to call someone. It wasn’t even amusing the first time…” It was a _little_ amusing the first time.

 

“I get my kicks where I can find them,” Richie replies. “And I think it fits you perfectly. I have nicknames for everyone, anyway. Ben is ‘Haystack’, Mike is ‘Magic Mike’, Stan is ‘Stan the Man’, Bill is ‘Big Bill’…”

 

“What about Bev?”

 

“Bev is special,” Richie says. Eddie can’t argue with that. “And she threatened to call me Dick if I called her anything but Bev.”

 

“I should start doing that,” Eddie muses. “It fits your personality.”

 

“Hardy har,” Richie says flatly, pulling into the student parking lot located at the back of the building. “You can try, but I don’t think you’ll be able to stick with it. You’re too prim and prissy to say ‘Dick’ with as many times as you talk to me in a day.”

 

“Don’t underestimate me, _Dick_.”

 

“Oh god, please don’t.” Richie pretends to gag as he parks between two pickup trucks. “’Spaghetti’ comes from a place of love, not spite. I like it when you call me Rich, it’s cute. No one else calls me that unless they’re pissed at me, but you just say it without even thinking. It’s special. ‘Spaghetti’ and ‘Eds’ are special, too.”

 

Eddie is trying his damnedest not to blush, but he can feel the heat creeping into his face. Richie is way too good at flustering him. “Well, you’d be correct in assuming that no one else would be insane enough to call me ‘Eddie Spaghetti’, and maybe that makes it special, but it doesn’t make it a name I want to be called.”

 

Richie makes a dismissive noise in reply and cuts the engine, which informs Eddie that he will not take heed of those words and will, in fact, continue to antagonize him with terrible nicknames for the foreseeable future. Eddie is secretly happy about it, but would rather choke than admit it.

 

Derry High is just as big as Eddie’s last school, considering it was the only high school in Derry, but it was the same generic layout that Eddie already knew he would navigate easily. Richie gave him an abridged tour, which mainly entailed him leading Eddie down the halls and vaguely gesturing at things until they ended up at the library, where they found Stan. His attention was captured by a battered copy of The Official North American Avian Dictionary, so he had no way of preventing Richie from rapping his knuckles against the tabletop directly beside him.

 

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Stan snaps, glaring up at Richie. His gaze softens infinitesimally when he looks over at Eddie. “Hey, Eddie,” he huffs, before placing a bookmark between the pages he’s on.

 

Richie slides easily into the open chair at Stan’s side, while Eddie takes the one opposite of him. “Stanley, light of my life, wind beneath my wings,” Richie says, his voice way too loud for a library, “I would never try to endanger your life in any way.”

 

“You’re shaving years off of it every time you talk to me,” Stan says flatly. ”I can’t believe I’m going to have to put up with you in homeroom today, on top of whatever classes we have together.”

 

“Last year we had _five_ of our classes together,” Richie says to Eddie, grinning while he holds up one hand for emphasis. “Back-to-back.”

 

“I lost an entire decade off my lifespan that year. My hair went grey at the temples, too. Now I have to dye it,” Stan adds. His voice is so perfectly deadpan that it’s easy to miss the undertones of humor and the glint in his eyes that show that he’s only joking. For the most part, at least.

 

The first bell blares over the intercom, signaling that students should head to their apportioned homerooms to receive their schedules and locker assignments. There were pieces of paper posted all over the hallways for kids who needed help finding their room numbers. Eddie glanced at one on Richie’s meandering tour of the school and noted that students with “K” last names were in room 215. When the three boys shuffled into the hallway, Eddie almost branched off on his own, but Richie and Stan insisted on walking him to his room despite his subsequent protests.

 

Homeroom was drawn out and mind-numbingly boring as the teacher passed out all the paperwork and First Day packets, and then waited for the bell to dismiss the students to their first period classes. Eddie’s schedule was at least well-suited to him, most of the core classes in the morning and the electives in the afternoon:

 

  1. **Algebra II** – M. Baker – Rm. 210
  2. **English III** – S. Jones – Rm. 123
  3. **US History** – E. Lewis – Rm. 146
  4. **Physical Education** – R. Vaus - Gymnasium
  5. **Art** – P. Mayweather – Rm. 101
  6. **Physics** – S. Dwight - Rm. 213
  7. **Spanish III** – T. Griffin – Rm. 130



 

The only real problem was that the longest class of the day would be P.E., since it would include both lunch shifts. Eddie sincerely hoped he shared that particular class with someone.

 

As soon as the bell rung, Eddie got to his feet and proceeded to hunt down his first class. He was decent at math, nothing impressive, but it came easily enough. He was happy to get it over with first thing in the morning though, rather than later in the day when he was tired and inattentive.

 

The classroom was mostly empty when Eddie arrived. He’d gotten there quickly since it was just down the hall from where his homeroom had been. He took a seat that was neatly in the middle of the room, close enough to see the board but far enough back to not be called on very often. Eddie took out his notebook that would be used for this class and set it on his desk, then watched the doorway anxiously. In the next couple minutes, a steady stream of students filed into the room. Eddie didn’t recognize a single one. He began resigning himself to his disappointment, when at the last minute he caught sight of flaming red hair.

 

Bev lingered in the doorway and eyed the nearly-full room, obviously trying to see if she knew anyone here as well. A look of surprised happiness crossed her face when her eyes met Eddie’s, and she immediately paced over to the desk beside his.

 

“Hey there, stranger,” she says as she tugs the strap of her messenger bag over her head to set it on the floor, sounding relieved. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to not be alone in here. Math is my worst subject.”

 

“I’m glad, too,” Eddie says. It was good to know that, even if he shared no other classes with the Losers, he’d at least have first period with Bev.

 

“Lemme see your schedule,” Bev requests, lowering her voice because class had almost begun. Eddie pulled the square of cardstock out of his pocket and handed it over. Beverly carefully smooths Eddie’s schedule out on her desk and places it beside her own, studying them intently.

 

“We have History together, too,” she says with a grin, giving his schedule back. “Already off to a good start.”

 

After sitting through a tedious introductory speech, first period was dismissed. Eddie had English next, which was one of his better subjects. To his dismay, he didn’t share it with any of the Losers, but he took comfort in the knowledge that he would see Bev in his next class. The two of them sat in the back of the room this time by Beverly’s executive decision, and when Ben came into the classroom a couple minutes late they indiscreetly waved him over in their excitement. Ben took both Eddie’s and Bev’s schedules to compare to his own, pleasantly informed Bev that they shared French, and then reported that he and Eddie had no other classes in common with an apologetic frown.

 

P.E. was next, and Eddie was immensely relieved when he caught Stan’s eye from across the gym. They sat on the bleachers while coach Vaus informed them that they had lunch shift B, which meant exercise first and eating second, much to the entire class’s dismay. He proceeded to take roll and pass out more paperwork for parents, then discussed the annual physical that would take place in the following days. They were to start dressing out in athletic clothes next week. For the rest of today’s class, the kids would walk laps in the gym.

 

“At least I don’t have to suffer alone,” Stan grumbled as they began their walk.

 

“I feel the same,” Eddie replies, sighing. “Have any classes with Richie yet?”

 

“ _Yes_.” He sounds supremely irritated by this fact. “I need to have a word with whichever counselor keeps scheduling us together.”

 

Lunch doesn’t come soon enough. Eddie is grateful that, in the event that all the other Losers have lunch shift A, he won’t have to eat alone. When he and Stan trek in from the gym, they are greeted by the sight of Mike, Bev, Ben and Bill all seated at a table by the windows. Eddie thinks he hears Stan muffle a “thank god” and tries to suppress a laugh. He hopes that he won’t get that sick of Richie someday, considering they live so close to each other. The odds are stacked against him.

 

“And that’s seven!” Beverly announces happily when they approach the table. Mike pats an empty spot beside him for Stan, and Eddie takes the one by Bill.

 

“Seven? What do you mean, seven?” Stan asks, but he already knows the answer. Richie seems to materialize at that exact moment, like a demon being summoned. He comes up directly behind Stan and clamps one hand on his shoulder, the other precariously balancing a tray of cafeteria food.

 

“We have pre-cal together, Stan the Man, I know you know how to count,” he says with a big shit-eating grin as Stan swats his offending hand away and he goes to take his seat beside Beverly. “By some miracle, the whole gang is here!”

 

“A _miracle._ Right,” Stan says with an eye roll.

 

The Losers all take turns looking at each other’s schedules to determine if they have any remaining classes together. Richie groans dramatically when he sees Eddie’s.

 

“Come on! You’re telling me I don’t have a single class with my sweet Spaghetti?” he looks down miserably at the remainder of his chicken nuggets, nudging them around his tray with a fork.

 

“We still have lunch together, _Dick_ ,” Eddie points out dismissively, as if to say “quit being such a baby”. He’s secretly a little disappointed by that too.

 

“I don’t have a class with him either and you don’t see me pouting,” Mike adds. Eddie is sad about that too, but he’s also pleasantly surprised to learn that he has art class with Bill.

 

When lunch ends, all the Losers head their separate ways. Bill leads the two of them down the hall towards the art classroom.

 

“How’s your d-d-dday been s-s-o far?” he asks as they walk. “Adjusting alright?”

 

“Yeah, I think so,” Eddie says. “It helps a lot that I get to see you guys pretty much the whole day.”

 

“It’ll be f-fun to have art with s-s-s-someone this year. Maybe we can use some of our c-c-c-class time t-to plan out our f-f-film.”

 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “The art teacher probably has some tips on how we should—“

 

Before Eddie can finish his sentence, he feels something solid slam into his shoulder. The blow doesn’t quite take him off his feet, but it sends him colliding into Bill, who reflexively steadies him. Both boys look to the source of the attack, Eddie with surprise and Bill with a knowing glare.

 

The boy who’d just body checked Eddie must be a senior. He’s about Richie’s height, but with Mike’s solid farmhand build. His clothes would suggest that he does, in fact, work on a farm somewhere: a dirty red flannel over a white muscle shirt, and a pair of chunky work boots. The boy is smiling, but it’s a vicious look, like that of a hungry predator that’s just cornered its prey.

 

“Watch where you’re going fuckface,” he snarls. Eddie, for the first time, realizes that two other older boys are standing to either side of the first, looking equally as gritty and volatile, and just waiting for either Bill or Eddie to make a wrong move. “You’re the new kid, right?”

 

“B-b-back off, Henry,” Bill says like a warning, but there’s no real force behind it. They both know that Henry could easily snap Bill like a toothpick if he really felt like it, all the easier if the other two boys joined in.

 

“Oh, what are you gonna do about it, B-B-B-B-Billy? Ya gonna wash me away with all that spittle?” The other boys cackle at this like hyenas. Henry takes a step closer. “I just wanted to stop and chat with the new kid, see what he’s like. If he’s hanging around you he must be another stupid piece of shit, though.” He turns his attention back to Eddie. “You mute or what?”

 

Bill is still holding onto Eddie, assuming an almost-protective stance at his side. It’s admirable of him, considering that he wouldn’t really be able to prevent an attack if Henry chose to do so. “I’m not mute,” Eddie mutters coldly, steeling himself against Henry’s intimidation techniques.

 

By now a considerable crowd is forming around them. Henry must notice this, so he takes a couple steps back. “Hanging around those faggots is a fucking death sentence, hope you know that. Next time I see you I might not feel so talkative.”

 

The three boys disappear down the hall before any teachers can be alerted, leaving Bill and Eddie alone in the little circle the students have temporarily formed around them. When they realize there won’t be a real fight, everyone disperses.

 

The rest of the day isn’t as fun as the beginning. Bill walks Eddie to physics despite the fact that his own class is in the opposite direction, which makes Eddie wonder if Stan and Richie escorted him to homeroom for a similar reason. He doesn’t see Henry or his goons for the rest of the day, which comes as a relief, and meets Richie in the student parking lot once the final bell rings. Bev is with him, both of them smoking as they lean up against the car. Upon seeing Eddie, they take their final drags before stomping the rest out under their shoes. Bev suddenly looks grim, and Richie looks downright angry.

 

“We heard what happened in the hallway today,” Bev says as the three of them climb into Richie’s car. “You’re sure Henry didn’t hurt you?”

 

“Nah, he startled me more than anything,” Eddie replies. Richie, who’s being uncharacteristically quiet, simply starts the engine and pulls out of the parking space.

 

“Well, congrats,” Bev says flatly, “you’ve officially met Henry Bowers. He’s probably the shittiest person in this town, and his buddies aren’t far behind as the runner ups.” She leans forward from the backseat so she can properly look into Eddie’s eyes. “Try to walk the halls with a buddy or two, okay? Safety in numbers.”

 

Eddie nods. “Does he have any specific reason to hate us?”

 

“Nope, he’s just a blossoming sociopath with no one else to focus his fathomless rage on,” Richie says, glaring ahead at the road. “We’re a target of convenience. Try not to be convenient.”

 

“You’re new, so he’ll probably focus on you for a while,” Bev admits, looking sad. “Just…try to always walk with someone, and try not to mouth off to him. It’ll just make things worse.” She jerks her head towards Richie in an unsubtle way of saying that he has firsthand experience with running his mouth off to Henry and facing the consequences. “Be as boring as possible and eventually some other unfortunate victim will catch his eye.”

 

“She’s right,” Richie says begrudgingly. “You’re feisty, but you’d be fighting way above your weight class. Plus he likes to ambush, so I wouldn’t provoke him enough to start really hunting you.”

 

Eddie can feel his anxiety mounting the more he learns about Henry, a hammering in his chest and a slickness of his palms. In Portland, there had definitely been a number of bullies over the years, but none of them seemed as frightening as Henry Bowers. Eddie has witnessed firsthand that Henry had a certain... instability to him. He knew that, if provoked, Henry wouldn’t be reasoned with. No consequences would keep him from doing exactly what he felt like, including punching your teeth down your throat, and probably worse.


	5. Chapter 5

After dropping Beverly off at her house, Richie drove himself and Eddie straight home. He was brooding, which was an odd look on him. It made him look suddenly older; his typically warm brown eyes now dark and troubled. “Here, Eds,” he muttered, handing over his phone and the aux cord. “Play something.” Eddie glanced at him before opening the YouTube app and trying to find a song that would ease away the tension in Richie’s shoulders. Settling on his choice, he presses play and sits back in the worn upholstery seat.

 

Like flipping a switch, Richie suddenly perks up, the dark expression from a moment ago vanishing instantly. “Oh, shit. Eddie Spaghetti is _old school_ ,” the smile that graces his features makes it worth the teasing that Eddie can already feel coming on. Richie cranks up the volume with a laugh. “I think my grandparents danced to this at their wedding!”

 

“It’s not _that_ old…” Eddie mutters.

 

“So this is the kind of music you like, huh?” Richie asks. “I kinda pegged you as a pop music type of guy, but I guess oldies music fits you, too.”

 

“It’s all my mom can tolerate,” Eddie says, shrugging. “She’s one of those older people who thinks hip hop is the devil’s music.”

 

“So you aren’t allowed to listen to _any_ new music?” Richie’s eyes are comically wide now. “I don’t think I could live without Spotify Premium.”

 

“It’s alright. My mom and I share an iTunes account and I take songs I like from her library.”

 

“I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” Richie says. “Don’t get me wrong, Hall and Oats and Madonna and Elton John are all great, but there’s so much more out there.” He watches the cars passing in front of them while they’re stopped at an intersection, long fingers drumming against the wheel. He looks thoughtful now. Any trace of his anger before is completely gone, as if Eddie had only imagined it.

 

They park on the street in front of Richie’s house and part ways. When Eddie walks into his living room, Sonia is waiting for him with a frown. She chides him for taking so long getting home when he had assured her he would be back right after school, even though he was only maybe twenty minutes late from the detour to Bev’s house.

 

“It won’t happen again,” Eddie promises.

 

“You need to be better about communicating with me, or these little outings with your friends simply won't happen anymore.” Eddie feels a cold spike of panic in his chest, much worse than the anxiety he’d felt around Henry Bowers today.

 

“I’ll be better,” he says immediately, his voice smaller than before. He’s disgusted with his mother for knowing exactly what to exploit in order to control him, but too scared to argue. It would be all-too easy for Sonia to take away his phone and computer privileges, and to keep him imprisoned in the house whenever he wasn’t at school. Sonia seems satisfied for the moment, so she dismisses him to go upstairs and work on whatever school work he already has. Eddie leaves the school's paperwork packets with her before gladly retreating to the one place in the house in which he has privacy.

  

* * *

 

 

The rest of the week progresses normally. Sonia continues letting Richie drive Eddie to and from school, and his classes move past the introductory portion with the passing days. Eddie only catches brief sightings of Henry Bowers in the halls. He takes Bev’s advice and starts walking with at least one Loser at all times: Richie walks him to math, Mike escorts him to English and then to history since his classroom is next door, Ben an Bev walk him to gym from history, Stan from gym to lunch, Bill from lunch to art and then art to physics, and Ben and Bev to Spanish on their way to French. It seems for now that Henry is keeping a distance, which isn’t as big a relief as Eddie wishes it was; it feels less like reprieve and more like being stalked.

 

Richie brings Eddie home on time every day after he explains what happened with his mom on Monday, and on Friday afternoon Sonia reluctantly agrees to allow them to carpool for the indefinite future. Richie seems really happy about this news, which makes Eddie wonder if Richie gets lonely easily and needs to have someone around at all times, or if he’s just fond of Eddie’s company in particular.

 

Eddie stays up late on Friday night finishing any schoolwork he has so that he’ll be free all weekend. On Saturday he gets up and goes straight over to Richie’s house, which is the default hangout for the Losers because his parents are almost always away at work, and when they are home they don’t mind having the extra kids around the house.

 

They’ve been discussing their film during lunch, and Bill and Eddie have spent much of art class brainstorming for the story itself, passing notes and ideas back and forth when the teacher isn’t looking. Today is the day they’re actually going to finalize their ideas and start working on the artwork and animating process itself, as well as any sound effects. The film festival is in the middle of November, officially marking the end of fall and the beginning of the bitter Maine winter. They have two and a half months, give or take.

 

When Eddie comes into Richie’s dining room, their unofficial official work station, he’s greeted by the sight of Bev and Ben clearing away various clutter while Bill and Richie set up some impressive-looking equipment. Eddie brought over his own laptop in case they need it, but Bill and Richie both have theirs set up as well, Bill’s attached to a drawing tablet while Richie’s is hooked up to what appears to be several recording and editing devices, including a microphone.

 

“Wow, this almost looks professional,” he says, genuinely impressed. Bill makes space beside him for Eddie while Richie types away at his computer, presumably trying to get the recording software running. Beverly shoves a cardboard box full of random papers into the corner of the room with the toe of her boot, taking a seat beside Richie, while Ben disappears into the kitchen.

 

“State of the art,” Richie says with a grin, the glowing screen reflecting off his glasses. “Or it might’ve been at one point, before the previous owner pawned it all.”

 

The idea they all agreed on is one that comes from an unexpected source. Georgie, Bill’s 10 year old little brother, conceptualized a character named Pennywise the Dancing Clown, who gets swept into a storm drain by one of Derry’s infamous rainstorms, and has to sail back to the circus in a gigantic paper boat. The idea is simple, imaginative, easy enough to animate, and with slightly disturbed undertones that appeal to the Losers for one reason or another. Eddie has taken the rather jumbled story and refined it into something more concise, and Bill and Bev teamed up to design Pennywise himself, as well as the wise old turtle character who lives in the sewer and helps the clown find his way out.

 

“I-it also includes something that all Derry c-c-c-citizens can relate to:” Bill adds, “th-the floods. That'll probably help our ch-c-chances.”

 

“I’ve been thinking about how Pennywise should talk,” Richie says, looking up from the screen at Bill and Eddie. “Like, should he have some kind of accent, or should I just try for a generic clown voice?”

 

Bill and Eddie exchange a look and shrug. “Do a few t-t-t-takes with different voices and we-we’ll see wh-wh-which sounds the best.”

 

“Eds, ya got the lines for us?” Richie asks.

 

Eddie immediately reaches into his backpack and retrieves his notebook, which holds his latest version of the screenplay. “Here,” he says, passing it to Richie’s outstretched hand over Bill’s head. “Pennywise’s lines are highlighted yellow and the turtle’s lines are green.”

 

“Nice, thanks,” he replies, eagerly flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for. Ben returns from the kitchen with Stan in tow, both of them carrying plates of food for everyone to eat while they work. Mike arrives just a couple minutes later.

 

They work through most of the day, stopping occasionally to bicker and discuss how a certain scene should play out, or to laugh at some of the ridiculous voices Richie tries. Mike, who’s playing the turtle, has a hard time keeping a straight face, and Stan, the narrator of the film, just looks beyond tired of his best friend’s antics. Bill is mostly silent as he works on his tablet, pausing from his sketches to consult with Ben on how the buildings and streets should look as he maps out the backgrounds. Beverly also checks on the art from time to time, but her main role is to come up with little melodies on her keyboard to use as the background music. It’s all in the beginning stages right now: playing around with the voices, sketching out the backgrounds, making changes to the lines and experimenting with different sounds.

 

On Sunday, it rains all day, which puts a literal damper on going out and doing anything. Eddie spent most of the day bored, helping Sonia around the house and texting the Losers about their solo progress on the film. He looks over the screenplay again and makes a few notes and changes in the margins, knowing he’ll eventually have to rewrite the whole thing because the current messiness will bother him. After dinner, Eddie holes up in his room for the rest of the night. The rain has let up finally, but the part of the street that Eddie can see outside his bedroom window reflects with the water that’s still standing under the street lights. There’s no way Sonia will let him out the door tomorrow without his rain boots. Maybe he’ll put spare shoes in his backpack.

 

Eddie’s seated at his desk, thumbing through the worn copy of a book he’s reread a hundred times when a loud tapping comes from the direction of his window. He’s so startled that he almost falls out of his chair. When he whips his head in the direction of the sound, he’s greeted by the sight of Richie crouched dangerously on the tree branch just outside, grinning manically as if the knowledge that he could fall at any moment was hugely amusing.

 

“ _You_ _idiot,_ ” Eddie whisper-yells, half-angry and half-panicked, as he throws the window open and reaches out to help pull Richie inside. Richie stumbles into the room with all the grace of a newborn deer, wet feet sliding and squeaking on Eddie’s wood floor. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“I thought we could have a little Romeo and Juliet thing going,” Richie says with a shrug.

 

Eddie crosses his arms and frowns. “I’m sure as hell _not_ Juliet.”

 

“Fine, be that other guy. What’s his name? Horatio?”

 

“Horatio is from Hamlet, dumbass.”

 

“Same difference, _nerd_.”

 

“Not quite,” Eddie says. “And you still haven’t really answered my question.”

 

“I haven’t been able to go out all day from this damn rain, and I was getting stir-crazy” Richie replies. “And I wanted to see my favorite neighbor.” He stops to take a proper look around the room. “ _And_ I haven’t seen your room yet. Wow, just as cute as I imagined,” he adds, pointing at a particularly dorky Spider-man poster above Eddie’s desk. “ _Also_ , I didn’t think your mom would want visitors at this late hour, so I had to be sneaky.”

 

“You’re going to see me tomorrow morning for school, though,” Eddie says, still a bit confused as he takes a seat on his bed. “Remember?”

 

Richie gives Eddie an odd look, like he’s missing something obvious. He toes out of his wet sneakers and put them against the wall by the window. “Yeah, but that’s school time. It’s still _technically_ the weekend right now.”

 

“And what do you want to do with,” Eddie looks at his watch, “the four hours we have before it’s _technically_ Monday?”

 

 

“I have something for you,” Richie says. “Can I see your computer?”

 

Eddie feels like he’s gotten whiplash from the past three minutes of conversation. “What?”

 

“Computer,” Richie repeats, miming typing on a keyboard, “can I see it?”

 

Eddie points across the room to his desk, where his laptop is resting atop his algebra textbook. “Don’t fuck with it or I’ll strangle you with the power cord.”

 

“ _Kinky_ ,” Richie replies immediately with a smirk before walking over to take a seat at Eddie’s desk. It was infuriating sometimes that he was so quick-witted, yet he wasted it on such stupid jokes.

 

After several minutes filled only the sound of Richie’s typing, Eddie’s curiosity wins over and he gets up from his bed to inspect what exactly his friend is doing. When he leans over Richie’s shoulder, he realizes that he’s downloaded Spotify and is currently setting up an account.

 

“What are doing?”

 

“I thought it was obvious.”

 

“ _Rich._ ”

 

“I’m exposing you to new things, relax. This will be good for you,” Richie says as he finishes making the account. “This way you can find new music that isn’t your mom’s. It’s free, so your mom doesn’t even have to know about it, right? No worries.”

 

“I guess…” Eddie says, still a little confused. From what he’s seen of Richie thus far, it kind of makes sense that he loves music so much and would want to encourage someone else to explore new genres and artists: he’d practically teared up when Mike had been able to fix his speakers, he owned a lot of expensive-looking recording equipment as well as an extensive collection of records and CDs located on shelves in his bedroom, and he rarely lets the car remain silent, even if it’s only to have “background noise”. Richie’s passion seemed to lie with music and sound, the way Eddie’s lie with writing and reading. He understood, to a degree.

 

Richie closes the laptop and turns around in the desk chair to straddle it backwards, folding his arms over the back and resting his chin on top of them to look up at Eddie. “I have something else for you, too,” he says, suddenly sounding a little shy. _Or as shy as Richie Tozier could ever sound_ , Eddie thinks. “But it’s not ready yet. I’ll give it to you as soon as it is.”

 

“Okay,” Eddie replies, unsure of what else to say. He’s curious, but can tell that Richie won’t tell him what it is until it’s ready. “What’s that look for?” he asks.

 

Richie blinks like he's come out of a trance, seemingly unaware that he’d been looking up at Eddie in any particular way before. He _had_ been looking at him oddly though, hadn’t he? With a strange sort of appreciation that Eddie didn’t quite understand. “Just enjoying the view, Eds,” he says, with a new smile that’s half-joking and half-not.

 

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, returning to the spot on his bed. He checks his watch again. “Well, it’s 8:25. Unless you’ve got three and a half more hours of activities up your sleeve, you should probably head home.” _As safely as possible_ , Eddie thinks. _I’m gonna watch you climb down every branch so I know you haven’t fallen and broken something_.

 

“Are you kicking me out?” Richie asks, his mock-hurt expression betrayed by the obvious amusement in his voice. “Do you have some top secret Spaghetti business to attend to?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Eddie says, exasperated, “but I’d rather read before bed than sit here staring at each other all night.”

 

“So,” Richie says, scrunching up his face in an exaggerated thoughtful expression, “life stories. I’ll go first.”

 

“What?”

 

“All of the Losers know each other’s life stories since we’ve basically grown up together. Except you, of course, because you’re the newbie. I’m sure you’ll eventually know everyone like we already know each other, but it might take time. I’ll be first to tell you mine, and you’ll tell me yours. Deal?”

 

Eddie stares for a moment before he actually mulls over the proposal. He decides that he’ll hear Richie out, and tell him exactly how much he’s willing to tell Eddie. That seemed fair.

 

“Okay, deal,” he says.

 

Richie proceeds to regale him with the details of his young life, from when he was a small child all the way to present day, sitting here at Eddie’s desk. He tells him about being, predictably, an extremely hyperactive child, and how that, paired with terrible social skills, meant that Richie had absolutely zero friends. He talks about meeting Stan in elementary school, how quiet he was even back then. Richie initially thought that Stan _hated_ sitting next to him due to their alphabetical seating chart, but came to understand that the other boy was equally friendless and just wanted someone who paid him any attention. Richie eventually won Stan over by agreeing to bird watch with him on weekends, which often turned into them just trekking through the woods together because Richie had gotten restless and scared away whatever Stan had been trying to see that day. By then, Stan didn’t especially mind.

 

By middle school, Richie and Stan were already inseparable friends, a two-for-one deal. They met Bill in the sixth grade, and Ben soon after that. Bev, who had been hovering in the periphery of their group by that time, became a permanent member of their group by the start of freshman year, as did Mike. To Eddie, it was fascinating to see where in Richie’s life the others’ had intersected. It was obvious that all of them had shared many of their formative memories together. A sense of longing bloomed quietly in his chest as he listened.

 

Richie talked about how he had always enjoyed doing voices, being inspired at a young age by the likes of Jeff Dunham to pursue ventriloquism, a dream he had quickly discarded because the puppets were just too creepy, even for him. He loved to make people laugh though, and he didn’t mind looking ridiculous if it meant he got someone to smile. Entertaining had always been at the core of Richie’s interests, so he mused that he would someday be a talk show host, or a stand-up comedian, or an actor, maybe all three. It didn’t seem to occur to him, or matter, that dreams that big were nearly impossible to achieve, but he talked about it with so much certainty and confidence that Eddie thought he could probably do whatever he wanted to and be successful.

 

As far as home lives went, Richie thought he had it pretty good. He was an only child. His dad was a nice guy who indulged in his son’s bizarre sense of humor, and his mom, although nagging, was well-meaning and always tried her best to understand him. They argued sometimes, his parents, because Wentworth was a workaholic, and Maggie was a former housewife who had found purpose in her new career. They were resentful of each other for neither of them being home enough, but they did nothing to change the situation. Richie didn’t mind that much, because he was used to his dad being busy with work, and he and his mom got on each other’s nerves when around each other for too long at a time.

 

Aside from doing voices, Richie also liked making music. He had a lot of software and devices for mixing and creating songs on his computer, from years of saving up as much allowance as his impulsiveness allowed and only asking for things like that for holidays and birthdays. He liked to make mashups of different songs to see how they fit together, either with the purpose of making something ridiculous, or to make something even better than its component parts. Richie played a little guitar too, from taking nothing but classical guitar as an elective since middle school, but had never really wanted to write anything original before. “Lyrics and poetry are more Ben’s thing than mine,” he’d said. “And my singing voice kinda sounds like a dying cat, or so I’ve been told.”

 

For some reason, Eddie hadn’t expected Richie to be so open with him, but he guessed that, upon examining Richie’s life, he didn’t have much to hide. His life was pretty normal, even if he was not.

 

“My turn, I guess,” Eddie says after a small silence falls between them. Richie perks up and rolls the chair closer to the bed with one sock-clad foot pushing against the floor.

 

Eddie begins with his father’s death. It’s a weird and awful thing to talk about, particularly because Eddie has never really had someone to discuss his father with. He doesn’t see his father’s side of the family anymore, and Sonia refuses to discuss Frank with anyone, even her own son. He starts with that, though, because it’s one of his earliest memories, and it does a good job of explaining why his mother is so unhinged. The funeral was boring, and he remembered his suit being uncomfortable. None of the adults paid Eddie any particular attention except for his aunt Mona, who was his father’s sister. Desdemona Kaspbrak had been perhaps Eddie’s favorite relative, but he hadn’t heard from her in years now. For a few years after that, she had sent him birthday cards, but eventually they’d stopped arriving. Richie watches him with an unusually solemn expression, listening with rapt attention.

 

He talks about how, after his father died, Sonia became increasingly protective of him, and began taking him to doctor’s appointments obsessively to ensure that there was nothing wrong with him. Then, she had started making up things that were wrong with him, illnesses and allergies that had terrified Eddie as a kid, but that he’d come to realize were fictitious as he grew older and started googling his “medications”. Eddie briefly discussed only having “school friends” for as long as he could remember, and stated that the Losers were his first real group of friends, which he hated to admit because it sounded as pathetic out loud as he’d feared.

 

As far as hobbies went, Eddie liked mechanics a great deal. He’d always been interested in cars and bikes, the way the parts all fit together and moved. Before he’d gotten into writing, his dream had been to become an engineer, and he supposed that he would still be pretty happy with his life if his Marvel aspirations fell through and he ended up pursuing that path instead. It was something he was definitely interested in studying in college regardless of what career he chose. Eddie was good with tools, had to be in order to help his mother who refused to learn, and was in charge of fixing most things that broke around the house, which he oddly enjoyed. He’d also built his own bike as a project last summer.

 

“I guess that’s it,” he said with a shrug. He looked back over at Richie, still straddling the back of the chair. _And there’s that look again_ , Eddie thought.

 

“Wow, I didn’t know you were such a handy man,” Richie says with a grin. “Next time my car fucks up, I’ll just have you take a look at it instead of trying to take it to the auto repair shop.”

 

“I actually wouldn’t mind,” Eddie replies with a shrug. “Although, I’m not a miracle worker. I think that car is on its last legs.”

 

“She’s still got fight left in her, I know it,” Richie replies, a bit defensively, in a terrible British accent.

 

“Whatever you say,” Eddie says skeptically.

 

It’s past midnight by then, but neither boy has noticed. The two continue talking well past their respective life stories, Richie eventually joining Eddie on the bed to annoy him more easily. They sit there for a while, quietly talking and teasing and laughing so as not to alert Sonia of Richie's presence, before laying back and falling asleep mid-sentence, side by side and facing each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I've finally got the plot sorted out so I can pace this fic how I want to, and hopefully update more regularly. Direction feels so good! Thank y'all for all the supportive comments


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only did some very light research for this chapter's details, so please just do me a favor and pretend it's accurate information lol

Eddie wakes up the next morning a good twenty minutes before his alarm goes off, uncomfortably sweaty. It takes a few minutes to get his bearings, but eventually, slowly, the world comes back into focus. He suddenly remembers last night: he’s sweaty because he fell asleep in his clothes, and because Richie is a human furnace, apparently. Eddie cringes as he peels himself off the damp sheets, checking the time and deciding to take a shower before anything else. When he pads over to his closet for a change of clothes, he hears a muffled groan from across the room.

 

“Ugh, what year is it?” Richie asks groggily, sitting up and groping around the comforter for his glasses, which must’ve slipped off sometime during the night.

 

“2074. The world was overtaken by robot overlords,” Eddie replies flatly.

 

“ _Fuck_ , they’re gonna disintegrate me if I can’t assimilate to the new culture, and I’m not even fluent in binary code,” Richie says miserably as he swings himself out of the bed. His hair, which is normally a mess of curls, is now an out-and-out disaster.

 

Eddie closes his closet door after retrieving a suitable shirt and pants. “You should probably get going. My mom is going to be up soon if she isn’t already.”

 

“Right, gimme just a second,” Richie replies, stretching his arms above his head to elicit a series of disgusting pops and cracks. He yawns loudly. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually fallen asleep talking to someone before. Like, I’ve had a lot of late night conversations at sleepovers, but that’s different. I really didn’t think I’d spend the night here.”

 

“Me either,” Eddie says, but that’s obvious. You can’t exactly have late night conversations when you don’t have friends to talk to in the first place. “Do you think your parents are freaking out right now?”

 

“Eh, they probably haven’t noticed yet. But you’re right, I should get going.” Richie crouches to put his shoes back on before standing back up and pushing the window open. “See you in an hour,” he says over his shoulder with a grin.

 

Once Richie’s managed to awkwardly maneuver himself back out the window, Eddie goes over to watch him climb all the way down the tree. He gets down to the lowest branch before dropping onto the ground below in one smooth movement. Richie might be one of the clumsiest people Eddie’s ever met when he’s just walking around, but he climbs like a monkey. Almost gracefully. He looks back up at Eddie’s bedroom window, still grinning, and waves before hopping the fence and disappearing down the street.

 

Eddie shuts the window and latches it, then grabs his wad of clothes and heads down the hall to the bathroom. He has a feeling it’s going to be a long day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It is a long day. The classes seem to drag on for longer than usual, for starters, and not even Beverly’s constant banter in math and history can cure Eddie’s boredom. He stifles his yawns as best he can, but he’s sure that his teachers notice. Eddie isn’t entirely sure why he’s so tired, he and Richie hadn’t stayed up that late last night, or at least not any later than they would’ve spent texting if they’d been across the street from each other like usual. He isn’t sure why the continuations of lessons from the previous week are suddenly so uninteresting either, but even English class is painful to sit through.

 

Gym is a particular nightmare. The boys play dodgeball with the kind of rubber balls that cut through the air and ring loudly when they bounce off arms and chests--and _heads_ , if you’re particularly unlucky. Eddie would’ve thought that Stan would let himself get hit on purpose in the first moments of the game so that he could sit it out as much as possible, but he’s surprisingly good. His eyes seem to be able to track the trajectory of every ball that comes his way, and he easily jumps or dodges out of their paths. He even catches a couple, or uses the ball he’s holding to knock another away. Eddie, who is small enough to be a difficult target but not athletic enough to stay in the game very long, sits on the sidelines and watches with awe. After several rounds, Eddie swears he can feel the bruises forming. The coach claps Stan’s shoulder on their way out of the gym in the way that coaches tend to do when they’re impressed by the nerdy kids who manage to play a sport well or run fast.

 

“That was _impressive_ ,” Eddie says earnestly as they walk to lunch.

 

“It’s pretty much the only gym activity that I’m any good at,” Stan says with a shrug, but seems pleased by the compliment nonetheless. “I’m sure I’ll be back to sucking at sports when we have to run laps tomorrow.”

 

“Good,” Eddie replies. “I’m even worse at running than I am at dodgeball.”

 

Lunch, as usual, is the highlight of the day. Having all the Losers together brings a sense of peace and happiness to Eddie that he doesn’t feel at any other time. They laugh at Bill and Richie’s banter and throw in extra jokes or snarky comments here and there. The conversations bounce around the table, sometimes group discussions and sometimes smaller ones between two or three of them at a time.

 

“So,” Bev says when there’s a lull, “Bowers has been on the prowl lately.” Her tone is conversational, but there’s a wary glint in her eye.

 

“You’ve seen it too, right?” Mike asks, looking more ill at ease than Bev. “It feels like he’s close to another meltdown.”

 

“And we all know who the punching bags will be when that powder keg goes off,” Richie mutters, pushing mashed potatoes around his tray until they’re a disgusting beige paste and Eddie has to look away.

 

“Which is why I’d like to propose something,” Bev says. “For your consideration: a day trip.”

 

“A day trip,” Stan repeats. “Elaborate.”

 

“We all know that Henry is more likely to jump someone when we’re not in school, so I say we bail out of town on Saturday, come back that evening, and then lay low on Sunday.”

 

“Small problem,” Richie says. “I’m the only one with a car of my own currently, and no matter how much we all love each other there’s no way we can fit seven people in it.”

 

“We’ll split up in two cars, I can borrow my aunt’s Toyota,” Bev says.

 

Bill seems to consider the proposal. “Wh-where were you thinking of as our d-d-destination?”

 

“Nowhere too far. Bangor maybe?”

 

“I’m down,” Richie says, predictably.

 

“Me too,” Mike chimes in.

 

“Definitely beats waiting around for Henry to pummel one of us,” Ben agrees.

 

Stan shrugs. “It might take some convincing, but my folks will probably say yes.”

 

“I-I’m up for it,” Bill says. “I w-w-w-wish I had Veronica already. Then w-w-w-we could all fit in one c-car.”

 

“Veronica?” Eddie raises a brow.

 

“Bill’s dad is friends with the owner of the used car lot,” Stan explains, “so they’ve worked out a deal and over the last year he’s been paying off this old Dodge Caravan bit by bit. Any holiday, birthday, chore, or good grades money goes towards it.”

 

“Plus money I make from whatever odd j-j-jobs I can get,” Bill adds. “I’m hoping to work p-p-part time at the Aladdin soon so I can have Veronica by the S-s-s-spring Break trip, and pay off the rest by the end of s-senior year.”

 

Richie points his mashed potato fork at Bill from across the table. “I worked there part-time for most of the summer and it’s not as glamorous as I would’ve liked to believe. You’re gonna be cleaning out a LOT of toilets, Billy Boy.”

 

“So _anyway_ ,” Bev says, lips pursed, “are we doing this?”

 

The Losers all look down the table at Eddie, who’s the only one who hasn’t verbally confirmed that he’s going.

 

“Oh,” he looks from face to hopeful face and shrugs. “I’ll see what I can do?”

 

“I’m on standby if you need help convincing her,” Richie offers with an eyebrow waggle, a dirty joke on the tip of his tongue, no doubt.

 

“We’ll see how it goes with just me first, perv,” Eddie says warily. “I’ll tell you the verdict by the end of the week. Worst case scenario, I don’t tag along.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but can’t disguise the sadness in his voice at this thought. The other Losers frown, equally sad at the prospect of leaving without him.

 

“If you don’t come with us,” Mike says with concern, “then try and keep to your house this weekend, okay?”

 

“Yeah, I will” Eddie replies, shrugging. “Not like I’ll have anything to do if you guys are all out of town anyway.”

 

“Okay, boys,” Bev says with a grin, “start asking your parents, and be ready to hit the road on Saturday morning.”

 

“Who’s taking who?” Richie asks.

 

“I volunteer to ride with Bev,” Stan says immediately. “I’m not subjecting myself to Richie’s nonstop bull shit in a confined space.”

 

“You’re gonna have to get used to it if you want to survive the big road trip, Stan,” Richie sing-songs. “And who needs you anyway? I bet Spaghetti will ride with me.”

 

“Don’t bet on it,” Eddie mutters. The others laugh at the joke, but he was only halfway-kidding. There was a very slim chance that Sonia would let him go out of town, even if only for a day.

 

“We’ll figure out seating arrangements sometime this week,” Bev says. “I can only fit five people total though, so at least one of you will have to ride with Richie whether you like it or not.”

 

“I’m not _that_ bad, guys,” Richie protests, indignant.

 

“Hate to break it to you, Rich,” Stan says, “but you are.”

 

“My car is going to be the cool car, you’ll see,” Richie replies defiantly. “You’ll all be begging to ride with me when you take a whiff of Bev’s aunt’s old lady mobile. Potpourri gets tiresome after half an hour.”

 

As soon as Eddie goes home he makes a point to sit in the living room with Sonia and work up the nerve to ask her permission to go on the trip. He knows that the earlier the notice he gives, the better his chances are, and so it’s counterproductive to wait. Sonia is apprehensive to the proposal at first, but after a grueling hour of convincing her: assuring her he’d stay with the group the whole time, that Bangor was only a half hour trip from Derry, that he’d take all his medication, and his phone, and his phone charger, and sunscreen, that his grades were currently very good, and that his homework would be completed on Friday, she finally _begrudgingly_ agreed to let him go. It was almost easy, in Eddie’s excitement, to forget that Sonia isn’t always as agreeable as she’s been lately. But he knew he couldn’t let his guard down. Eventually he would catch her on a day when she was in a bad mood, and he had to be prepared to face off with her when that day inevitably came.

 

The rest of the week slid by with less difficulty than Monday had. Any free time was spent either continuing to work on the film, or plotting what they were going to do in Bangor. By lunchtime on Thursday, they have a running list of activities that each person in the group wanted to do the most. Stan was adamant that they visit the Maine Discovery Museum.

 

“Isn’t that place for little kids?” Richie asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“It’s for _everyone_ ,” Stan corrects him, narrowing his eyes. “And if we don’t go there, I’m going to drag all of you to Acadia National Park for a long hike.”

 

“Hm.” Beverly rests her chin in one hand while she jots something down on their list, which will hopefully become a coherent schedule that they can fit into one day and still be home by Saturday evening. “So: Stan wants to go the science museum, Ben and Mike want to go to the Bangor Historical Society museum, Richie and Bill want to visit the Astronomy Center, I want to do some light shopping, and Eddie just wants to avoid the creepy Paul Bunyan statue if at all possible,” she reads aloud. “Anything else?”

 

The boys all look at each other and shrug.

 

“S-s-s-sounds good, Bev,” Bill says after the short pause.

 

Eddie is giddy by Friday, he’s in such a good mood that he doesn’t mind doing nothing but chores and homework when he gets home from school. He’s never gotten to do this kind of thing before, another normal teenager experience. It felt almost unreal, like something teens only did in movies: just piling into a car and taking a casual trip to another city like it was nothing. Maybe it _was_ nothing. Maybe Eddie was just so far removed from normal that he didn’t have a proper gauge of what was or wasn’t.

 

On Saturday morning, Eddie gets ready as quickly as possible and bids his mother goodbye with as few hugs and cheek kisses as he can get away with. When he crosses the street to Richie’s house, he sees Mike and Bill standing in the driveway. They both smile when they see him, Bill quickly stifling a yawn with his fist pressed over his mouth.

 

“Where’s…?” Eddie glances around for Richie, but he’s nowhere in sight.

 

“Upstairs, trying to find his phone,” Mike says, one hand stuffed into the pockets of his shorts and the other wrapped around a half-eaten Nature Valley breakfast bar. “He’ll be down in a while.”

 

Bill rummages around in his backpack and pulls out another granola bar. “D-d-did you eat yet?”

 

Eddie waves off the offered snack. “Yeah, I already ate. My mom wouldn’t let me out of the house without a five course breakfast. Thanks, though.” Bill nods and puts the granola bar back into his bag.

 

A minute later, Richie comes bursting out of his house, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his phone clenched in one hand. “I’m ready, I swear!” he shouts, stumbling towards them. His hair is only halfway dried and both his shoes are untied.

 

“You’re even more of a hot mess than usual this morning,” Mike jokes, watching Richie with amusement.

 

“I told you earlier when you were banging on my front door, Michael,” Richie grumbles, bending over to tie his shoes, “I stayed up late and slept through all my alarms.” His backpack slides off his shoulder and swings into his head with a dull thump. When he stands up straight again he adjusts his glasses and rubs that side of his head.

 

“Why were you staying up so late if you knew we were leaving early?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“For this,” Richie says, holding up his phone. “I made us the greatest mini road trip playlist of all time.”

 

“It’s a thirty minute t-t-trip, though,” Bill says.

 

“You guys are all killjoys.” Richie sighs and digs his keys out of his pants pocket. “It doesn’t matter how short a trip is, playlists make everything better.”

 

“W-want me to drive us home today?” Bill asks, walking to the passenger side door.

 

“Yeah, that’d be cool with me,” Richie replies, yawning loudly. “You won’t want me falling asleep at the wheel and driving us into a ditch.”

 

“Exactly right,” Mike agrees. He and Eddie sit in the back seat together, after Richie quickly crawls inside and scoops up an armful of assorted garbage to get rid of. He dumps it into the trash bin outside his house before finally taking the driver’s seat and pulling away from the curb.

 

“Here, Big Bill,” Richie says, handing his phone over to his co-pilot. “You do the honors of kicking off this amazing day trip with an equally amazing playlist.” Bill takes the offered device and plugs in the aux cord.

 

Mike taps at his own phone for a moment. “Bev says she just picked up Stan and they’re all ready to head out.”

 

“Let her know that so are we,” Richie replies. “I even filled up the gas tank last night, so no need for any stops. We’re meeting at the Historical Society museum, right?”

 

“Yeah, the Thomas A. Hill house,” Mike replies, busily typing a reply for Bev. “Then the Discovery museum, then lunch, then shopping, then the Astronomy Center.”

 

“And no Paul Bunyan statue,” Eddie reminds them. He doesn’t tell any of the Losers that his aversion comes from visiting Bangor quite frequently as a child and constantly having to see the statue because his dad had a bizarre fondness of it, despite the fact that it made a young Eddie tear up at the mere sight. It was a deeply unsettling landmark wrapped in bad memories. Or rather, memories that Eddie really didn’t want to relive.

 

“No Paul Bunyan s-s-statue,” Bill agrees. “W-w-we remember, Eddie.”

 

The playlist is, in fact, very good. It’s full of songs that the boys know and can sing along to. Evidently, Eddie is not the only Loser who likes 80s music; they crank up the radio and scream the lyrics to “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” and “Let’s Groove”, among others. Mike gets text updates from Stan as both cars get closer to Bangor, keeping them informed about where they currently are and supplying a couple snarky comments about how much nicer it was riding with Bev and Ben. Richie scoffs loudly at these, and tells Mike what witty remark to fire back with. Eddie is amazed that the two of them can banter with each other like this when they aren’t even in the same vehicle.

 

They park outside the Thomas A. Hill house as planned, and Bill immediately spots Bev’s aunt’s car just a couple spaces away from them. The group reforms in front of the building, taking a moment to stretch their legs before Ben eagerly leads them all inside. They are greeted by a nice-looking older man, who smiles at them when Ben tells him they have an appointment for 10:30AM under the name “Hanscom”. A tour guide appears a few minutes later, and ushers them along. Eddie falls to the back of the group as they begin walking through the house, not particularly interested in the architectural aspects, or of the man it was commissioned by. He lets his mind wander as the guide discusses how the Historical Society came to possess the house. Mike and Ben seem interested, at least.

 

Richie sidles up to Eddie before too long. “Isn’t this just _riveting_?” he asks in a weirdly gruff accent that might be taken for a stereotypical pioneer man if you were really trying to put a name to it. “Are you on the edge of your seat yet, Eddie my boy? All this,” he gestures with a flourish and Eddie has to pull his hands back down to keep the guide from noticing, “crown molding?”

 

“We can’t take you anywhere, can we?” Eddie asks, but there’s a lack of bite to his voice. Richie grins.

 

“Oh, you think I’m being embarrassing right now? Wait until we go to the Discovery museum,” his eyes glint mischievously, but when Stan looks back at him suspiciously he feigns innocence. He waits for Stan to turn back around and drops his voice to a murmur. “It’s a kiddie museum. I’m gonna act like a kid. It’s the only way to properly enjoy it.”

 

Eddie decides to not even bring up the fact that Richie almost _always_ acts like a kid. “We’re going to pretend we don’t know you and let security take you away,” he replies in the same quiet tone, shrugging as if this is of little consequence to him.

 

“You wound me, Spaghedward,” Richie replies with mock-hurt. Eddie has to bite his lips to suppress a laugh at the absurdity of the nickname.

 

“What in the living hell is that monstrosity you just called me? Because it sure as fuck was _not_ my name.”

 

“You don’t sound too bothered by it,” Richie teases quietly. “I think you’re succumbing to my charms, Eds.”

 

“Yeah, right,” Eddie scoffs. He can feel the tips of his ears grow warm despite his words, and desperately hopes Richie doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t comment on it.


	7. Chapter 7

After walking through the entirety of the Thomas A. Hill house, the Losers gratefully leave for the Discovery museum. As Richie pointed out earlier, it is indeed a place designed specifically for little kids. The interior is disorientingly colorful, every wall covered in informative placards and helpful signs featuring various cartoon animals and plants. Children run around screaming and laughing in every direction, followed closely by their exhausted parents. Richie, who was bored into submission by the house tour, catches his second wind almost as soon as they all finish paying for their tickets.

 

“So what’s the plan, Stan the Man?” he asks, looking around them at the corridors leading to the different exhibits. “Artscape? Dino Dig? Booktown?” He flips through the activities brochure with genuine excitement. “ _Holy shit_ , no. We gotta do the Body Journey—no! Sounds Abound!”

 

“First of all, stop swearing in front of all these children,” Stan says in a low, warning tone. “Secondly, I absolutely _forbid_ you to go to Sounds Abound. And in fact, we’re not letting you go _anywhere_ without at least one chaperone.”

 

“You’ve got some serious control issues, Stanley,” Richie says, not unfondly. Stan continues to stare him down, silently daring him to argue with him, and Richie finally gives in. “ _Fine_ , lead the way to whatever dumb bird thing you’re here for.” He gestures exaggeratedly to the nearby room with the entrance decorated in turtles, beavers, and sea birds. Stan gives him one last dirty look before leading them to the room.

 

Eddie has a much easier time paying attention here than he had at the Thomas A. Hill house. Being surrounded by bright colors, loud noises, animals, and crowds of children definitely helped keep him stimulated. Most of the exhibit was about reptiles and beavers, as that was what made up much of Maine’s wildlife, but there were also some birds featured here and there, and those were the enclosures that Stan focused on. The other Losers broke off into smaller groups to survey the other animal enclosures, Bill making sure to take reference pictures of the turtles to use for their film.

 

“Eds,” Richie whisper-yells as they look into a glass enclosure that claims to be inhabited by a snake. It wouldn’t surprise Eddie if the snake had taken one look at Richie approaching and hid in the back.

 

“What, Rich?” he asks in a normal speaking voice, killing the illusion that they were being sneaky. He can already tell that whatever request Richie’s making will be for an ill-conceived misadventure.

 

“Bev and I wanna go to the Body Journey. It’s one of those tunnels you go through but it’s giant organs and stuff!” He smiles excitedly, like nothing could possibly be more fun than crawling through giant foam intestines. “None of the other Losers want to go because they hate fun, but you’ll come, right?”

 

Eddie takes one more look at the seemingly empty snake enclosure and shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

 

Without wasting any more time, Richie grabs Eddie’s arm with one hand and Bev’s with the other, and the trio awkwardly walk-skip towards the Body Journey exhibit; Beverly and Richie skipping, and Eddie lamely walking beside them with his too-short legs.

 

The Body Journey is disorienting, and the three of them have to be mindful of not stepping on the small children in there with them, but Eddie has to admit that it _is_ fun. As they make the journey through the mouth and down the esophagus, a recorded voice narrates their passage and lists some facts about each new destination they reach. Richie almost immediately joins in with an Announcer Voice of his own, giving wildly inaccurate descriptions of the organs that have Bev nearly doubled over with laughter.

 

“Here we are, in the gut,” Richie shouts, having the attention of most of the children by this point. “Ah yes, the gut. Known for doing what?” The children, more than happy to play along, reply with a small chorus of “digestion!” Richie looks confused at this response, then shakes his head. “Absolutely not! The gut is where your snot is stored! Just a big gooey sack of runny, bubbly, green mucus!” The kids all shriek and giggle, some say “ewwww” and hide their faces behind their hands.

 

Eddie can’t help but smile at how well Richie can handle such a big group of kids, but he elbows him in the ribs anyway. “Quit telling them blatant lies about this stuff. They’re impressionable.”

 

“No need to worry, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says while Bev helps one of the little girls walk across the puffy stomach floor and towards the large intestine, “they’ll hit ninth grade and their biology teachers can sort it out.”

 

It doesn’t matter at that point what else Richie says, because the kids all immediately start laughing and chanting “Eddie Spaghetti” for the rest of the way through the body, right until they get to the anus and the butt-related humor is too impossible to resist. Richie and Bev put their hands to their mouths and make loud fart noises, mimicked by all the kids as they walk together through the final corridor and back out to their waiting parents. The pair stand at the exit and watch the children reunite with their guardians, still happily mouth-farting away, and revel in the chaos they’ve created.

 

“You’ve just polluted the minds of an entire kindergarten class,” Eddie says flatly as they make their way back to the animal exhibit.

 

“It’s good for them,” Bev replies confidently. “All children should know how to make quality mouth farts.” Richie high fives her in agreement. Eddie rolls his eyes and tries not to be endeared to their idiotic behavior. He fails miserably.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lunch is a chaotic event, as expected when it involves seven hungry sixteen year olds with seven different food preferences. After twenty minutes of arguing, they all finally agree to go to a diner, since it will have the most variety and therefore the highest chance of appeasing all of the Losers. They crowd into a big corner booth together, loud and laughing, and order a grotesque amount of food. 

 

After leaving their poor waitress a good tip, Bev led them onward to a small strip of family-owned stores and boutiques. Most of the shops, by virtue of being family-owned, had some very interesting and unique items that kept the other Losers entertained while Bev tried on clothes. The products ranged from homemade jams, to candles, to handbags, to various knick-knacks and paperweights. Bev bought a pair of sunglasses, a hat and scarf set, and a bottle of lotion as a gift to her aunt for letting her borrow the car. Ben and Mike both bought some jams and honey for their moms, and Richie bought a pair of novelty socks, despite Bill and Stan both protesting that he already had way too many.

 

Eddie thought perhaps he should also buy something for his own mom, but none of the jams were flavors she liked, and she didn’t care for hats or sunglasses or socks, either. He wandered to the front of the store while the others waited for Stan to finish paying for something. At first, he was just mindlessly picking objects up and turning them over in his hands, passing the time, but then something across the street caught his eye through the glass storefront: a sign for wood carvings. Sonia had quite an extensive collection of small wooden animal figures, particularly owls. Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what the attraction was, but it was certainly something she’d appreciate.

 

Eddie looks back at the Losers, who are all huddled around Stan while he waits in line, quietly talking and joking amongst themselves. He probably has enough time to go across the street, buy an owl, and make it back without anyone even noticing he left. Making up his mind, Eddie sets down a Fabergé egg and leaves the store.

 

The traffic is a little hectic, but Eddie manages to get across in one piece. The wood carving store smells like lemon oil, and Enya plays softly over the sound system. Every available surface is covered in wood carvings, ranging from palm-sized trinkets to totem poles the size of tree trunks. Eddie immediately spots a section reserved entirely for owls.

 

“Let me know if you need help with anything, hun,” an older woman says from her spot behind the register. Eddie glances over, meets her eye, and smiles back at her.

 

“I will, thank you.”

 

After that, it’s a matter of finding an affordable owl. The first couple of choices Eddie makes are more than a little steep, so he continues inspecting smaller and smaller owls until he finds one in his price range. When he finally settles on a $10 one, its wings unfurling as though it might take flight at any moment, Eddie approaches the register, only to find a man has since walked in and is now negotiating the price of the hand-carved rocking chair outside the store. Eddie holds the owl in both hands and waits patiently, but he’s aware of every passing minute that he stands there. After finally coming to an agreement, the man pays and leaves. Eddie’s transaction takes only a moment by comparison, but he knows he should hurry back across the street because Stan has probably already payed for his item, and the Losers have probably noticed that he’s missing and are now impatiently waiting for him.

 

The bottom of Eddie’s stomach drops out when he walks back to the store and finds it empty, except for the woman standing behind the counter. She smiles at him, a genuinely warm look that falters when she sees the obvious distress on his face. Eddie looks around the whole store, then walks back outside and looks up and down both sides of the street. The Losers are nowhere in sight. Choking back his panic for now, Eddie goes back into the store and approaches the woman.

 

“Did you see where that big group of kids went?” he asks, mentally congratulating himself for sounding reasonable instead of hysteric. “With the girl with the really red hair, and the stupidly tall guy with the glasses?”

 

“They were in here just a minute ago,” the woman says, looking concerned, “but I didn’t see which way they went when they left, I’m sorry. Can you try calling them?” Eddie appreciated her compassion, he really did, but he absolutely _loathed_ it when people used the tone of voice that she was currently using. It said: “You’re small and helpless, and I pity you.”

 

“Yeah, I will. Thanks anyway.” Eddie waves goodbye to her and walks back out of the store to stand out on the sidewalk, digging his phone out of his pocket. Dread washes over him when he snaps open the device and sees that he has no service. None. Cursing under his breath, Eddie looks back around him in the hopes that he’ll catch sight of Richie’s curly hair or Mike’s blue jacket amongst the throngs of people walking up and down the street. He comes up empty. Eddie’s angry at his friends for leaving him behind, at his mom for buying him such a shitty phone plan, and at himself for not taking thirty seconds to tell someone where he was going.

 

Eddie swallows and paces back and forth in front of the store. He thinks he should just stay here and wait, but then he wonders if any of his friends would actually remember where they had been when they lost Eddie. As anxiety sets in, Eddie becomes more irrational. He starts walking in the direction of the street where they’d parked the cars, consciously trying to pull air into his lungs and keep a level head. _Long breath in._ It’ll be okay. _Long exhale_. The Losers might not be the most observant people in the world, but they _are_ pretty smart. _Long breath in_. They’ll notice that he’s gone, and they’ll find him. _Long exhale_. Everything will be fine. Eddie feels a shudder run through him as he continues down the street, and quickly glances over his shoulder to see that a man is now following him. He immediately reasons that no, that couldn’t be true. He was just panicking; everything and everyone was scary and suspicious when you were panicking. That was all. He was being ridiculous. Paranoid.

 

When Eddie turns the corner, so does the man. When Eddie crosses the street, so does the man. Eddie is well on his way to a full blown meltdown at this point, and the man shows no sign of stopping his pursuit. Real, true panic starts to dig its icy claws into Eddie as he walks, twisting and pulling at him until he thinks he might need to stop and use his inhaler, but he doesn’t dare so much as slow his pace.

 

 _This day keeps getting better and better_ , Eddie thinks miserably, clenching his jaw in a desperate bid to keep his composure. _I’m going to get abducted and my friends won’t even realize I’m gone until they’re halfway back to Derry. My mom will have a massive heart attack and drop dead right there on the spot when the police tell her that I’m missing, and then they’ll just drop the case after that because no one will care enough to keep pursuing it._

 

When the stranger starts getting closer and the crowds of people are dwindling as they near the parking spaces, Eddie starts to drastically change his course. He crosses the street again, then heads towards another bustling section of storefronts, in the opposite direction of his original destination. At least there’s more of a chance that he’ll be noticed if he stays in a public area like this, he thinks, and less of a chance that the man will try anything. The man continues to follow right after Eddie, though, so he ducks into a candy store and waits several minutes among the crowd of screaming children before going back out and walking quickly onwards to the nearby park. He doesn't even think about slowing down until he's absolutely positive that he's put enough distance between himself and his follower.

 

That’s when Eddie sees it, the cherry on top of this absolute shit sundae:

 

Proudly standing there on a brick platform, at 31 feet tall in the center of the park, is Paul Bunyan. Of fucking course.

 

Eddie cautiously looks around him and sees that he’s alone now. The man is gone, but that’s only one relief for a _list_ of problems, one that is currently growing, because that’s the moment Eddie realizes that he’s gotten himself lost. Groaning miserably, he sits cross legged in front of the Paul Bunyan statue in defeat and pulls his phone back out.

 

“How did things get so shitty so fast…?” Eddie mutters, narrowing his eyes at the top left corner of his screen with a little “x” in place of any bars. Still no service. “One minute, everything is great. The next? I’m weaving in and out of traffic trying to escape a fucking child abductor, and I don’t even know if my friends have noticed I’m gone.” He doesn’t know why he’s talking to himself, but it makes him feel marginally better anyway. Eddie rests the back of his head against the brick platform and sighs. When he looks up at the sky, he sees grey clouds gathering to cover up the sun. Perfect. The ideal way to top off his misfortune was to get caught in a rainstorm.

 

“The one fucking thing I didn’t want to do was see your stupid face…” Eddie continues, now addressing Paul Bunyan himself. “But now I’m here, sitting and waiting for people who may or may not even be looking for me.” He looks down at the grass between his feet and picks at it idly, trying to push down the bittersweet memories of having to pose in front of this statue with every visit. His mom would have to hold him in her arms while his dad took the photo, or else he’d run off and stubbornly refuse to come back in whatever limited vocabulary he had at that age. Eddie tries to push them down, because he knows that reminiscing will only lead him down a path to sadder, more recent memories.

 

Just when he was beginning to feel the hot pressure of tears pushing their way out of his eyes, a chime rang out from Eddie's hand. He looked down to see that his phone was ringing, miraculously. It was as if the cosmic being who'd been fucking with him had finally said "okay, the joke's not that funny anymore". Almost disbelieving, Eddie fumbles to answer his phone before the service went out yet again.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Eddie?” It was Mike, relief heavy in his voice. Eddie feels overwhelmed with guilt at the mere sound of it. “Guys, I got ahold of him,” Mike says, his voice sounding a bit muffled as he probably pulled his face away from the receiver to talk to the others.

 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says immediately, hating how small his voice sounds. “I went across the street to get something and when I came back you guys were gone.”

 

“Don’t worry about that right now. Where are you?”

 

Eddie laughs at that, humorlessly. “I somehow ended up at the Paul Bunyan statue.”

 

There’s a pause, and Eddie can hear the sound of other voices in the background, and then some scuffling. Mike says “Ouch, hands off Tozier!” and then “Hang tight, Eddie. We’ll be there in five.”

 

The line goes dead again, and Eddie’s misery and guilt are replaced by pure relief. He’s been found. His friends are coming to take him away from this terrible giant forever. He draws his knees up to his chest and hopes that the rain won’t fall yet.

 

Five minutes pass, and sure enough: all six of the others come running full tilt towards Eddie, looking just as disheveled as he probably does. Richie reaches him first, by virtue of his long legs.

 

“We were beginning to think we’d have to change our names and flee the country,” he says, panting slightly. The wind has whipped his hair into every possible direction, giving him a particularly crazed look. “Ya know, on account of the fact that your mom would probably kill us all if you went missing.” He sounds like he’s trying to joke around, but it’s obvious that he was freaked out by Eddie’s disappearance. The others all approach just moments after Richie, most of them sharing in his look of fear, but others, like Stan and Bill, looking mildly angry.

 

“You almost made us go to the police,” Stan says, frowning hard. “We didn’t know where the fuck you went, and no one could reach you on your cell phone.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie repeats, standing from the spot on the grass and dusting his pants off. “I thought I could just run across the street for something, but it took longer than I thought it would. When I went back to the store, you guys were gone.” He goes on to explain about his phone having no service, having to shake off the stranger who followed him for several blocks, and ending up at the Paul Bunyan statue in a cruel twist of fate. Any traces of anger ebb away from Bill and Stan’s faces, replaced instead with tired concern.

 

“You’re not completely at fault here, Eddie. We didn’t notice you were gone until we were halfway back to the cars,” Bev admits guiltily. “Richie shouted ‘wait, where’s Spaghetti?” and then we all panicked.”

 

Mike smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “Yeah, Richie drove himself half-crazy running up and down that shopping strip looking for you,” he teases.

 

“You’re just so tiny, there was a strong possibility that we could’ve lost you forever,” Richie says, smiling sheepishly. He doesn’t defend himself against Mike’s jab in the slightest.

 

“Sorry I freaked you guys out, I won’t wander off again,” Eddie promises. “This was a shitty turn of events, all the way around.”

 

 

“L-let’s finish this t-t-t-trip off strong,” Bill proposes. “The astronomy center is s-s-s-supposed to be really cool, and it's the last th-thing on our list.”

 

 

“Onward, ho!” Richie shouts in a terrible British accent, pointing back in the direction they’d come from. “Come along, Young Master Edward, I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the day,” he adds, smiling at Eddie. There’s still that look of relief in Richie’s eyes, and Eddie realizes just how much he’d scared the Losers, how much they cared about him. It made his heart swell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The rain didn’t start until they got to the Astronomy Center, so they parked and quickly ran inside with their heads ducked. It was late in the afternoon by then, so the tours were done for the day. That didn’t really matter to Bill and Richie, apparently, because they lead the group straight to the planetarium as soon as they paid the entrance fee.

 

Eddie had never been to a planetarium before, but he’d always wanted to. The room was huge, and very nearly pitch black, but the ceiling was alive with glittering stars and planets. The Losers took seats in the back of the theater so as not to disturb the other visitors that had gotten there earlier, while a man wearing a bow-tie stood in the front and began the lecture on constellations. Eddie was enraptured, staring up at the ceiling and getting lost in the sea of light. When the presentation came to an end, the other visitors got up to leave, and the theater grew quiet as the Losers continued to sit and stargaze.

 

“I wish my bedroom was like this,” Bev says softly. “I’d never leave.”

 

“We should probably go, actually,” Stan replies, pressing on the face of his watch to make it light up. “It’s getting late. Besides, I’m getting neck pains from this.”

 

Richie sat up suddenly. “If I can get that guy up there to let us lay on the floor, can we stay longer?”

 

Stan frowns. “What? No.”

 

“Stan’s right, we should probably get going,” Ben says, looking apologetic. “The sun’s almost set.”

 

Richie is already out of his seat and making his way down the aisle to the man in the bow-tie, the other Losers powerless to stop him. Bill and Eddie exchange a look, then get up to go after him.

 

“Hey,” Bev says, and they turn back to her. “There’s a student café that we passed on the way in. Me, Stan, Mike, and Ben will wait there for you guys?”

 

“We’ll try not to take too long,” Eddie replies.

 

When they reach the front of the theater, the man in the bow-tie is smiling and chuckling at whatever Richie is saying to him, which is better than what Bill and Eddie could’ve hoped for.

 

“You really mean it?” Richie asks, grinning hopefully. “We can hang out here?”

 

“Sure, I really enjoy seeing kids who are so interested in astronomy. You can stay in here until the next group comes in.” The man smiles at the three boys in turn, then excuses himself. Richie happily flops himself down on the floor, and Bill only shrugs before laying down beside him. They both look up at Eddie expectantly.

 

“You s-s-s-staying? Or you c-could go hang out with th-th-the others,” Bill offers. Eddie shakes his head and joins them, laying squarely between Richie and Bill.

 

There’s no talking between the three boys as they all look up at the stars, and it’s the most comfortable silence Eddie’s ever experienced. It feels _right_ , like there’s no need to disturb the moment with words. Suddenly, being lost and alone seemed like a faraway memory in the back of Eddie’s mind, like it hadn't happened just over an hour ago. He thinks this moment could stretch on and on forever and he’d be content to lay there, feeling for the first time like every single space in his heart was filled. When they decide it’s time they leave, it doesn’t feel like it's been long enough. The trio stumble out of the darkness of the planetarium and into the artificial light of the Astronomy Center. When they get to the café Bev was talking about, they find the others lounging with their drinks. Bev smiles lazily, her boots propped up on the tabletop.

 

“Have fun?” she asks.

 

“Mhm.” Bill looks sleepy, they all do. He runs a hand through his auburn hair. “Are we ready t-t-t-to hit the road?” The group all nod their agreement, and break back into their two groups for the drive back to Derry. Richie passes his car keys to Bill as they cross the parking lot.

 

Mike, who is caffeinated and therefore wide awake, takes the passenger seat to keep Bill company, and Richie spreads across two thirds of the backseat with Eddie. The ride back to Derry has a very different atmosphere than the ride to Bangor. The radio is off, for starters, and the only actual sound is that of the muted conversation between Bill and Mike in the front seat. Eddie feels drained, and is starting to nod off when he hears the distinct click of a seatbelt being undone. Richie scoots to the middle seat, suddenly so close to Eddie that their arms and legs are pressed together. He puts on the new seatbelt, which only stretches over his lap, and leans his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Bill and Mike don’t seem to notice any of this, lost in whatever it is they’re talking about.

 

“It’s been a long day,” Richie says quietly, half-asleep already. “I’m glad we found you. I would’ve missed you if you’d gotten kidnapped.”

 

Eddie sighs tiredly. “I’m glad I wasn’t kidnapped, too.”

 

“You’re one of us now, Spaghetti Man. You can’t disappear on us.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Rich,” Eddie replies, and means it. If anything, today has truly cemented in his mind that these are the people he wants to be in his life forever, if they're willing. He can’t imagine walking away.

 

“Good. We wouldn’t let you go without a fight anyway.” With that sentence, which is more or less mumbled incoherently into Eddie’s shoulder, Richie promptly falls asleep. Eddie should be worried that he’s going to get drooled on, or that this isn’t a particularly comfortable position, but he can’t seem to get past the way his heart is fluttering in his chest. The other boy is so extremely warm, and his vaguely citrus-y shampoo is washing pleasantly over Eddie, accompanied by the faintest smell of cigarette smoke. It's oddly nice, and very comforting. Eddie waits until he's sure that Richie is really asleep, readjusts himself slightly, and leans into his side before slipping off to sleep himself.

 

Looking back on it later, Eddie might realize that this was the beginning of his undoing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just finished remastering this chapter after it's been up for a couple days lol
> 
> I really wasn't satisfied with the way it came out at first, so I edited some things out, and added a lot more in. I realized that this chapter is important to establishing the emotional buildup for the rest of this story, so it deserved more development and detail than I originally wrote. Sometimes you have to look back over something with a fresh eye in order to give it the attention it deserves, so I decided to go back in and do just that! hope you like it better this time around if you've read the original version before.

That evening, Eddie walks into his house in a daze; backpack dangling off of one shoulder, hair pressed flat on one side and sticking up horribly on the other, shirt wrinkled. He can't even remember the last time he fell asleep in a car.

 

He was woken up by Richie, who was so uncharacteristically quiet and gentle while doing so that Eddie mistook him for Bill for a few fleeting moments as he regained consciousness. He barely registered that they were outside Bill's house now, and both Bill and Mike were leaving, which meant that Richie and Eddie should get into the front seat for the ride back home. Eddie vaguely remembers saying goodbye to his friends as they all stood in the driveway, and then crawling back into Richie's car for the final leg of the trip. Richie seems fully awake when he drives them back, but his voice is still low and gravely from sleep as he talks about whatever seems to pop into his mind. He laughs when Eddie only mumbles one or two-word responses to the things he says, preferring to lean against the passenger side door and rest his eyes than to keep a conversation going. Richie doesn't mention the fact that he probably woke up with his body wrapped around Eddie's, that by all intents and purposes they had fallen asleep on top of each other (or, more specifically, Richie had fallen asleep and Eddie had knowingly and consciously burrowed into his side before also falling asleep). Eddie doesn't mention it either.

 

Eddie barely has the presence of mind to give Sonia the owl, the thing that he doesn't really think was worth all the hassle, even if it makes his mom smile. He thinks he'll forever look at it and think of a stupid decision that almost got him kidnapped, but maybe he'll also associate it with an overall very fun trip to Bangor. Who knew. Eddie doesn't really care all that much, because even though it isn't terribly late yet, he's exhausted. He bids his mom good night as she fawns over her new owl, and goes upstairs to take a shower and pass out face-first onto his bed.

 

The following days are…confusing. Eddie starts paying much closer attention to Richie than before and he doesn’t know why: the way he talks with his hands, the way he sits a little too close to Eddie at the lunch table, the way he jiggles his leg whenever he sits down, never able to keep still, his freckles, which you can only really see up close, and his laugh, which is too loud but also so full and happy that it’s infectious. It’s like Eddie is looking at Richie through a microscope, able to see every single detail. Perhaps even more unsettling, Eddie’s feelings about Richie in general seem to shift. Suddenly, the little smiley faces on Richie’s texts make Eddie smile stupidly when he’s alone in his bedroom, and his ridiculous jokes make Eddie laugh a little too hard. It’s _weird_.

 

It's particularly weird because Eddie is trapped between wanting desperately to understand himself and desperately trying to ignore whatever _this_ is. Maybe deep down he knows that acknowledging these thoughts and feelings would signal the end of something and the beginning of something else. He doesn't want things to change, he wants it to be exactly the same for the rest of his life, even if that's an unrealistic or stupid thing to want. He likes being friends with Richie: their car rides to and from school, their stupid jokes, the moments when they smile at each other and Eddie knows in his very core that he's never connected with someone so much or so fast. Things are perfect the way they are now, with Richie and with all the other Losers, and anything that threatens that balance must not be good or worthwhile. It's better to just bury anything close to a revelation and to hope it gets forgotten over time.

 

For the most part, Eddie does a good job of ignoring whatever _this_ is. He shoves all the strange feelings aside and dismisses the close observations as him just being detail-oriented as usual. Eddie focuses most of his energy on working on the film: helps Bill with ideas, reworks the dialogue, goes with Ben to Kinko’s to print official copies of the screenplay for each of the Losers to have. On weekends, the Losers all crowd into Richie’s dining room and pore over their separate components; Bev has some songs almost ready for recording, Richie and Mike are fine-tuning their voices for the characters, and Bill is working on his beginning animations, which are very rough, but promising nonetheless. School work and the ongoing project keep his mind occupied enough that he doesn't really think about anything else. That is, until they reach the week of September 11th. 

 

Eddie isn’t sure how to bring up that his birthday is on Friday. His mom has already been asking about what kind of cake he wants, and if he would like to invite his friends over for a little party. He isn’t sure. Other than Sonia’s smothering brand of “love”, Eddie isn’t used to having people pay him that much attention. He doesn’t know if he’d like it or not, but he’s also not sure he wants to spend his 17th birthday alone with her. There are things so depressing and pathetic that even Eddie refuses to do them. It’s already Wednesday, so he needs to give Sonia his answer tonight, probably.

 

“Hey guys,” he begins, and realizes that he’s just randomly interjected in some ongoing conversation he’d been oblivious to, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. His sudden words draw the other Losers’ attention to him though, all of them looking at him with curiosity. “Um, so my birthday is on the 15th.”

 

“Wait,” Bev says, “like this Friday, the 15th? Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

 

“I wasn’t sure I was going to have a party or not,” he says, shifting in his seat self-consciously. “My mom says I can have you over Friday night, though, if you guys want to.”

 

Mike snorts. “Of course we do, Ed.”

 

“Yeah, we’ve been wondering what the inside of your house looks like for a while now,” Ben adds. At this point, Eddie has seen the inside of all the other Losers’ homes, even if it was only sitting in the living room for a few minutes when picking them up to go somewhere else. Richie was the only one who’d actually been inside Eddie’s house: the living room, briefly, to talk to Sonia, and Eddie’s bedroom when he’d snuck in through his window that one night.

 

“J-just give us a time,” Bill says, leaning forward so that he can look down the table at Eddie, one of those Perfect Bill Smiles on his face. “We’ll be there.”

 

“Cool,” Eddie says, because that’s all he knows how to respond with. It _is_ cool. For the first time since he was five years old, he’s going to have his friends at his house for a party.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Richie will not shut the fuck up about Eddie’s birthday on the ride home, and really, he should've seen it coming.

 

“I didn’t even know you were an older man, Eds,” he says, lifting his hands away from the steering wheel to gesture before wrapping them back around it so they don’t veer into oncoming traffic. “I thought maybe you were a Taurus like Bill. A Virgo, though.” He pauses thoughtfully. “I guess that also makes sense. You’re fussy and tend to worry too much.” 

 

“So when’s your birthday, then?” Eddie replies, irritated. “So that I can overanalyze _your_ personality.”

 

“March 30th,” Richie says. “I’m an Aries.”

 

Eddie scrunches up his nose. “Oh my god. That makes so much sense.” He doesn’t know a lot about astrology, but Aries is one of the zodiac signs that everyone knows: impulsive, energetic, short-tempered, aggressive, and quick-witted. That was Richie to a t: either bouncing off the walls, joking constantly, or ready for a fight. Eddie had only seen the anger a couple times so far, but he knew it was there, and as far as he could tell it was exclusively reserved for Henry Bowers.

 

“I know, believe me,” Richie says. “I just wish I’d been born on April Fool’s day. Do you know how legendary I could’ve been as a comedian if my mom had just held me in for two more days?”

 

“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” Eddie groans. “Why can’t you think about what you’re going to say before it comes out?”

 

“Because, ya know,” Richie says, shrugging, “no filter.” He turns onto their street a little too fast, making Eddie hold onto the edge of his seat to brace himself. “And besides, I love the cute little face you make when I say something terrible. Your nose wrinkles up like a bunny.”

 

“It does _not_ ,” Eddie replies, just to be argumentative. “And I’m _not_ cute.” This part is said quieter, with less fire. Eddie secretly likes it when Richie calls him cute, even though he doesn’t quite understand why.

 

“You’re _not_ cute,” Richie agrees as they park outside his house, and before Eddie can open his mouth to fire something back he adds, “You’re the _cutest_.”

 

“You’re so full of shit,” Eddie smiles in spite of himself and shakes his head as they get out of the car, forcing himself to take Richie’s words as the joke they are.

 

“Maybe I am, or maybe I’m just honest to a fault,” Richie says, locking the car doors before walking towards his front door. “Think about it, Eds.”

 

Eddie doesn’t _want_ to think about it. He says nothing as he turns and heads down the street.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Friday comes around, and Eddie wakes up to his mom making more pancakes than any human being could ever possibly eat in one sitting. He makes an honest effort to get through a plate, and endures Sonia getting teary-eyed and doting on him all morning. There are already party decorations set up around the den, where Sonia says Eddie and his friends are allowed to eat and hang out and play games without disturbance--with the exception of cutting the birthday cake, because Sonia has never missed her son blowing out the candles, and she’s not going to start now.

 

The den a good-sized carpeted room that was probably used as a second living room by the previous occupants of this house, but so far Sonia’s only furnished it with a long sideboard against the back wall and a couple of book shelves. There are electrical outlets, and plenty of room for dancing, or whatever else the Losers might care to do, but most importantly, there’s a locking door to the room, which means that Sonia won’t be able to snoop around or eavesdrop. Eddie has never seen the room look so colorful, or any other part of the house, really, until this morning: Sonia has hung banners and streamers from the ceiling and across the walls, and has plastic plates and cups already set out on the sideboard.

 

Richie comes over at the same time he does every morning, wearing a big smile when Eddie answers the door. “Happy Birthday, Cupcake!” he says immediately, holding a clear plastic box with a single cupcake inside. Figures that his gifts double as visual puns.

 

“Thanks, Rich,” Eddie replies, grabbing his backpack from its spot by the door and sticking his arms through the straps, ignoring the way his heart flutters in his chest. Richie stands on the porch and waits for his companion, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

 

 “Is something up?” Eddie asks, smiling and raising an eyebrow. Richie's antics this morning are more energetic than usual, if that's possible.

 

Richie shakes his head, his curls springing in all directions with the movement. “Nope, just excited. Let’s go.” Excited for _what_ , Eddie has no idea. He’s too afraid to ask, so he just takes the offered cupcake, tells his mom goodbye over his shoulder, and follows Richie to his car.

 

Beverly shares the cupcake with Eddie while they’re paired up to review for the math test next week, and in history they waste the entire class with Ben discussing the details of the party instead of paying attention to their workbooks. Richie is going to bring over his speakers in case they want music, Bev has one of those rotating colorful spotlights, and Bill will bring some of the many, many board and card games he owns. At lunch, Mike and Bill both wish Eddie a happy birthday, and then they all turn their attention to discussing the film. It’s nice, Eddie decides, to have a little extra attention paid to him. For the most part, though, the day goes by normally: he and Bill talk about the animation’s progress during art and on the way to physics, and Ben and Bev make small-talk as they walk with him to Spanish. Normal is nice, too.

 

Richie is conspicuously silent on the ride home, only the muted sounds of the radio station he always plays drift in the space between the two of them, instead of the typical high-energy conversations and teasing and laughter. He drops Eddie off in front of his house instead of parking on the street in front of his own, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel as Eddie grabs his bag and unclips his seatbelt to get out.

 

“I gotta go run some last-minute errands, but I’ll be back here around six thirty,” he says, winking. Eddie only feels even more suspicious at these words, but he doesn’t bother commenting on it; Richie is going to do whatever weird or ridiculous thing he’s going to do, and no one can stop him. Eddie waves briefly at him before heading inside his house to finish making the preparations for the party.

 

The rest of the Losers have arrived by six thirty. When ten more minutes pass with no signs of Richie, and no answers to the texts Stan and Bill send him, they decide to start eating the pizza rolls and cookies without him. They’re halfway through their third round of Cards Against Humanity when they finally hear a series of bangs from the front door. Eddie and Bev both go to the door, and find Richie standing there with both his hands full of balloons, a couple of party store bags hanging off his arms.

 

“ _Wanna float?_ ” he asks in his Pennywise voice, eyebrows wagging up and down. It's admittedly a little creepy for a cartoon clown in a movie that's meant for children, but the Losers have decided that it's equal parts goofy and eerie, which is the film's overall feeling, so it fits right in. It's also a big improvement to the previous renditions of the character, which sounded less like a clown and more like a cartoon lion with a speech impediment, as Stan had so eloquently stated. Bev takes one group of balloons from him so that he can fit the rest of them through the doorway.

 

“That’s a funny way to say ‘sorry I’m late’” she says, eyeing Richie with faux annoyance. Eddie doesn’t think he’s seen this many balloons in his life outside of a carnival, or Disney World. “I think you went _way_ overboard, Richie, two groups would’ve done it.”

 

“We agreed that I should get more decorations for the party, and this is Spaghetti’s first birthday in Derry with us, so it’s gotta be special! So I’d say this is the perfect amount of balloons for the occasion,” Richie replies. “Now direct me towards the party destination before these get caught in the ceiling fan.”

 

“Yeah, or my mom sees this and kicks all of you out,” Eddie adds. She’d recently read an article about people committing suicide by inhaling helium, so this many balloons was bound to make her have a meltdown. The three kids quickly head to the den while Sonia continues to fuss over the cake in the kitchen, ignorant to the blatant health risk that her son has just let into the house.

 

Eddie and Bev reclaim their previous spots on the floor while Richie places a cluster of balloons in each corner of the room, each group tied to a weight to keep them in place. He shrugs off his backpack next, which is bulging open from his speakers being crammed into it. “Oof,” he groans, setting it down along with the party store bags.

 

“D-did you buy the whole s-store, Rich?” Bill asks, laughing.

 

“Almost,” Richie replies easily, sitting down cross-legged and upending the bags in one big pile like a kid inspecting his candy haul on Halloween. The others scoot closer to see what he got.

 

“Confetti poppers, kazoos, party hats, bubble soap, ring pops,” Richie lists as he sorts through the items, seven of each kind. “And these,” he says with a wicked grin, putting a tiny plastic hand over his pointer finger and reaching out to caress Ben’s face with it. “Couldn’t help myself.” Ben flinches away from him, startled by the action.

 

“How did you pay for all of this?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“We all put money in for it,” Mike explains, looking amused as he picks up the one tiny hand that matches his skin tone. “Should’ve known better than to send a little kid to a store full of toys and candy with a wad of cash.”

 

“None of us would’ve got better stuff, though,” Bev points out, grabbing her ring pop and tearing open the package with her teeth. “And he got one of each for everyone, so it’s not like anyone has been cheated.” She slides the ring onto her left and holds it out to admire it, as though it’s real.

 

“I guess,” Stan mumbles, eyeing the pile of colorful plastic as he takes a drink from his orange soda. He takes a container of bubble soap and returns to his previous spot on the floor.

 

The night truly begins when Richie sets up his speakers and Bill takes out the other games he brought. They play Candy Land first, which they play in two teams of two and one of three. Next is Sorry!, which gets very cutthroat very quickly when Richie and Stan are playing against each other, and then Monopoly, in which Bev and Mike amass an empire and bankrupt all the other Losers. They play more Cards Against Humanity, which is somehow even worse when Richie plays it with them, twisting the jokes into something even darker or more perverted. At any rate, each of the Losers have shot soda out of their noses from laughing _at least_ once by the time Sonia is calling for them to come into the kitchen for cake. Eddie stands awkwardly amongst his friends as they all sing to him, trying not to meet any of their eyes. They each take a big cut of the cake, thank Sonia, and return to the den in a fit of giggles for no discernible reason.

 

Richie turns the speakers back on, this time cranking them up a little louder. “Bev, I’m declaring it dance party time, so would you mind kindly setting up those jazzy lights of yours?” he asks, batting his eyelashes at her exaggeratedly. Bev rolls her eyes and retrieves the device, while the others clear away some of the stuff on the floor. Eddie stays close to the wall with Stan.

 

“Not a dancer?” he asks, opening his second soda.

 

“You’ve seen me move in PE, you tell me,” Eddie replies.

 

Stan nods in understanding. “Me either.”

 

Richie crouches by the speakers and clicks through songs until he finds what he’s looking for: a rowdy, fast-paced song to dance to. Ben takes Bev by the hand and they start moving to up-tempo rhythm, leaving Bill, Mike and Richie to dance together in a small circle. Stan and Eddie watch contentedly from the sidelines until Richie catches sight of them and waves for them to come over. Eddie shakes his head, and Stan folds his arms defiantly over his chest in response. Bill and Mike join in too now, still dancing as they wave their arms at the two boys and shout encouragement over the music. Richie even mimes throwing a lasso and reeling them in.

 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Stan groans after a couple long, painful minutes of this, and then sets down his half-empty soda bottle on the sideboard. “Let’s just go over there, they’re not going to stop.”

 

Eddie hesitantly follows Stan’s lead as they approach the others, who all yell victoriously upon their arrival, as if they've achieved something great instead of just convincing two unenthusiastic people to join them on the dancefloor. Mike takes Stan’s hand and pulls him back and forth to the beat of the song while Bill dances to his side. Being led this way seems to be the extent of Stan’s capability as a dancer, or what he’s willing to do, at least. He looks like he’s barely tolerating it, but his eyes betray the rest of his sour expression. Mike has a way of making anyone compliant, with his purposely slowed movements and encouraging smile. Bill's method of encouragement seems to be that if he dances ridiculously enough, Stan will break character and be forced to acknowledge that he's having a good time.

 

“Come on, Eds, let’s see some fancy footwork!” Richie shouts cheerfully, moving like someone who’s never seen another human dance in their life. Flailing might be a better, more accurate term for what Richie’s doing with his body right now, all bony elbows and long legs.

 

“I can’t dance,” Eddie says pointedly. “If I _could_ dance I wouldn’t have been standing to the side.”

 

“See, that’s the thing,” Richie replies, “dancing is something that _everyone_ can do, Eds. Whether they do it _well_ or not is another story, but if you look around,” he gestures to the Losers all around them, “no one here dances well. So no judgement.”

 

Eddie still feels apprehensive. The most he ever dances is alone in his bedroom with the door locked, or around the house if he knows for a fact that his mom is out running errands. Richie must see the unease on his face, because he takes both of Eddie’s hands in his own and starts twirling him around. Eddie stumbles along with the movements, letting himself be guided but not particularly enjoying it. Alone, Richie is a spectacle, but with a partner he's downright ridiculous. The pair have a hell of a time trying to find their rhythm together, clutching each other's hands less to stay together and more to stay upright. It's such a perfect snapshot of awkward adolescence that Eddie thinks he might burst into laughter, but he's too scared of stumbling to even giggle. The song changes to something more familiar after another minute of disastrous movements, and the dancing becomes a little easier as the pair begin to synchronize their footwork. In time, it actually starts being fun instead of just ridiculous and a little scary. They're still not good at all, but they've gotten to the place that they're equally terrible, and at least match each other's odd movements. Eddie eventually becomes confident enough to look up at Richie instead of down at their feet.

 

Richie’s hair is bouncing around with every new movement, the dark curls glowing a with a halo of different colors every time the spotlight rotates and hits it. His brown eyes look almost black in the dimmed light, but even now Eddie can see the way they glitter with _aliveness_. Richie is so full of life, all the time; it’s overwhelming and annoying and refreshing all at once. His hands, which practically envelop Eddie’s, are calloused, and warm like the rest of him. The way he pulls them to the music makes Eddie aware of the fact that Richie is a lot stronger than he looks, which is to say he looks like a beanpole but might actually have some muscle underneath all those layers of obnoxiously bright clothing. Eddie isn't really doing much of the work at all, being the unwilling participant of this spectacle, and still the taller boy is able to move them around their little section  of the dancefloor like it's nothing. From this proximity, just inches apart from each other, Eddie can once again make out the lemony or orangey smell of Richie's shampoo. He remembers that he knows it's the shampoo because he had his face damn near pressed into Richie's hair when they were riding back from Bangor.  When Richie spins Eddie around again, which has become their unspoken Big Move, he smiles especially wide. It’s one of his more unusual kinds of smiles, not the one he wears most of the time, but the one that he gives Eddie in particular.

 

Eddie feels confused for thinking this way, for taking in all these details that shouldn’t matter. He _should_ be thinking of how much he likes this song, or that he’s starting to actually _enjoy_ jumping around like an idiot with his friends, but he’s not. Eddie forgets to watch where he’s moving and nearly trips over one of Richie’s feet.

 

“Woah, you okay there, Eds?” Richie asks, using his hold on Eddie to keep him steady. Everyone is still dancing around them, oblivious.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Eddie says, a little harsher than he meant, embarrassed and not knowing why.

 

Richie frowns, looking almost disappointed. “You looked happy there, when you weren’t overthinking things,” he says. “You should try doing that more often.”

 

“Not thinking?” Eddie says, loudly because despite the fact that they aren't dancing anymore, the music is still playing, too loudly for them to use a conversational volume.

 

“Yeah,” Richie says with a chuckle, never able to be serious for more than a second. _On and Off switch moods_ , Eddie thinks. “Just don’t think so much, like me.”

 

The song changes again at that moment, and instead of trying to dance again, Eddie excuses himself to the bathroom. He wanders down the hall in a daze, locks the door behind him, and sits down on the tiled floor in front of the sink.

 

“What the fuck was that?” he whispers to himself.

 

Nothing makes sense, and it's especially upsetting when you have no idea what's going on and you can't even understand yourself. Eddie doesn't know what's been going on with him lately, the way he feels about Richie only seems to be getting stronger. He'd convinced himself that ignoring the issue would make it go away, because sometimes that's what you did when you felt jealous, or angry, or sad, or any other undesirable emotion. The fact of the matter was that this feeling wasn't undesirable, it was _pleasant_. Looking at Richie and taking in the features of his face, his mannerisms, the distinct sound of his laugh was all so _enjoyable_ to Eddie. It made him so happy to be around the other boy, and excited at the prospect of getting to see him again.

 

Somehow, that was even worse than if it were an ugly, unpleasant feeling.

 

After a few more minutes of staring up at the ceiling and trying (and failing) to sort out his thoughts, Eddie splashes water on his face and heads back to the den. By now, the music has died back down to slower, calmer songs, and the Losers are sitting back down on the floor, chatting idly. Eddie slips into the room, sits between Bill and Bev, and slowly eases back into the flow of conversation.

 

The rest of the night goes well; more laughing, more eating. They have a kazoo playing contest, which Richie and Bill both win because the others are too busy laughing to decide a final winner, and then they all just lay on the carpet and blow bubbles at the ceiling while talking about nothing in particular. By the time Eddie is walking them all to the door, Bev is wearing Stan’s jacket, Stan is wearing Mike’s jacket, and they all have about a dozen new inside jokes. With his heart so warm and full, it was easy for Eddie to forget about his weird predicament for a moment. That was, right until Richie froze in the doorway and turned around, digging a piece of paper out of his pocket to hand over to Eddie.

 

“Almost forgot,” he says, “here’s what I told you I’ve been working on. It’s a Spotify playlist. I happened to finish part one for your birthday.” He smiles at Eddie, his regular one, waves goodbye, and disappears down the walkway and into the night before Eddie can thank him.

 

As soon as he helps his mom pick up the mess, and then heads up to his room for the night, Eddie reads the note, which is written in Richie’s barely-decipherable scrawl.

 

_Dearest Spaghetti,_

 

_Your pathetic range of music has made my heart sad. To help you out, I’m personally curating a master list of all kinds of genres and artists for you to listen to. You might not always like the songs I add, but it’s the exposure that matters, developing your own taste and exploring more! Each song has a link to the artist and the album, so you can give those a click and discover more music that fits you._

 

_“Welcome to Variety” is a work in progress, which means I’ll try to add new songs every week. Part one is 10 songs that have an overall 80s vibe. This will let you get your feet wet without sounding too different from your current library._

 

_Be warned, it’s only gonna get weirder from here!_

 

_Best Regards, Richie xoxo_

 

_P.S. Happy Birthday!_

 

Curiously, Eddie opens his laptop and clicks on the Spotify tab. After a bit of searching, he finds [“Welcome to Variety”](https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/1SlBPQVVklfC6iw4xpYW1Y?si=p2Kr9A-GTd-bQh742wE7Ng), and immediately starts playing it. To his surprise, Eddie takes a liking to the songs Richie has chosen; they really do have an authentic 80s sound to them. Most are upbeat, the kind you can dance to, but some are more subdied or even a little sad. As each song fades out and the next begins, Eddie thinks about Richie sitting at his own desk and carefully picking out which tracks to put on the playlist, looking through his own library for songs he thinks Eddie might like, or trying to remember that one he heard on the radio and probably having to Google the lyrics to finally find it. Eddie wonders if any of these songs were meant to be about him, or if they're about Richie, or if the lyrics don't matter at all and it's just about the way they sound that's important. He quickly realizes that playlists can mean a lot of different things.

 

Eddie gets halfway down the list until one song in particular catches his attention. He listens closely to the lyrics of the second verse:

 

“ _I was always shy and careful, I was sure that you would never look at me._

 

_Never wanted to discourage everything your eyes encouraged silently.”_

 

That hit unnervingly close to home.

 

“ _But you...you could be the one, yeah, you could be the one. Baby, let's go get lost, I like that you're driving slow._

 

 _Keeping my fingers crossed that maybe you'll take the long way home._ ”

 

Maybe it was songs about driving and being in cars that made Eddie immediately associate them with Richie; it _was_ the place they spent the most time together after all: driving around, listening to the radio, laughing at some stupid joke that they kept going long after its funniness had expired. Maybe that was why Richie chose this song in the first place, or maybe Eddie was reading way too far into it and Richie had just put the song on there because it fit the overall sound of the playlist.

 

Eddie folds his arms on top of his desk and rests his head on them as he listens to the rest of the playlist. It’s a little over half an hour long right now, but knowing Richie it’s bound to grow to monstrous proportions as the weeks go on. Eddie is excited and a bit scared to see what new music joins the list.

 

When he’s through with all ten songs, Eddie puts the sixth one on repeat and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist is real and you can click the embedded link or copy/paste the one right here: 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/1SlBPQVVklfC6iw4xpYW1Y?si=p2Kr9A-GTd-bQh742wE7Ng 
> 
> By god I am actually going to try to update the playlist as this story goes on, and I'll try to link it in the end note every time I add on! Let's hope my musical tastes can keep up with Richie's. I'm gonna do my best.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I radically changed the previous chapter, so if you read it a while ago you might wanna check it out again because I added a lot of extra details that might make this current chapter have more emotional context? Just a heads up

On Saturday, Eddie rides his bike to the Derry Public Library to study and return the books he has due. Ben was supposed to meet him there, but texted Eddie that morning that he couldn’t make it after all, because it turned out that his aunt and cousins were visiting from Texas this week and now he’s stuck at home entertaining the younger kids while also answering intrusive questions about school and why he isn’t dating anyone. Eddie replies that he understands, but he feels more than a little disappointed at the prospect of studying alone.

 

The maze of aisles in the library make it easily one of Eddie’s favorite places in town. It smells like the dusty paper of the older books, and everything is bright thanks to the large windows built into nearly every wall. Best of all, it has the same stuffy, silent quality that all libraries possess, which brings a unique sense of calm to Eddie that he rarely experiences out in the rest of the world. He was almost surprised at the niceness and sheer size of the building, but Eddie supposed that a small town with only one of everything would make sure that each thing it had was big and decent enough to suit the needs of its citizens.

 

The main wing of the library is decorated with pieces donated by local artists, with matching chairs, couches, and square coffee tables interspersed throughout. Eddie’s destination is the back of the building, where they’ve set out long oak tables for the express purpose of studying. The library also has a large computer lab and several study rooms in the _very_ back, but Eddie has yet to be here at a time where they aren’t completely filled.

 

There are already some students, both high school and college ages, seated at the long tables here and there, so Eddie chooses a seat at the far end of one, close to the windows. He’s halfway through his reading assignments for next week when a loud knock on the tabletop startles him out of his thoughts.

 

“Wow, you really get involved in your homework, huh? Wish I could focus that well.”

 

Eddie looks up at the source of the familiar voice and finds Beverly standing there, her algebra textbook tucked under one arm and school bag hanging from the opposite shoulder.

 

“Hey, Bev,” he says sheepishly. “Yeah, I pretty much zone out when I read stuff like this. It’s the only way I get through it.” Eddie is _not_ a multi-tasker. If he tries to watch a TV show while writing a paper, for example, he ends up with an essay full of run-on sentences and no idea how the episode ended.

 

“Mind if I sit here and study?” she asks. “I won’t distract you, I promise.”

 

“Of course,” Eddie replies, gesturing to the chair across from him.

 

“Maybe if I’m lucky, your Brainiac vibes will rub off on me,” she says with a smile, leaning over to dig a pencil and notebook out of her bag. Eddie rolls his eyes.

 

“If it’s a _real_ Brainiac you’re looking for, then you’re out of luck. Ben’s aunt just got into town, so he couldn’t come here with me today.”

 

“ _Ugh_ , that woman is obnoxious,” Bev grumbles. “He’s gonna be a prisoner in his home for the rest of the week.”

 

Neither of them say anything else, since Eddie has never met Ben’s aunt and therefore can’t comment on whether or not she’s actually as bad as Bev claims she is, although he has every reason to believe that she is. The two of them study their separate topics for another 45 minutes, until they’re interrupted by Bev’s aggravated grunts.

 

“You okay?” Eddie asks, amused by her antics. Bev is notoriously bad at math, so he’s genuinely surprised and impressed that she’s gone this long in total silence.

 

“My brain is melting,” she moans, resting the side of her face on the open pages of her textbook. “Eddie, are you reaching a stopping place?”

 

Eddie looks down at his own work, and sees that he’s read what he needs for Monday’s class discussions. “Yeah, actually. Why?”

 

“Because I want to get out of here. I think an hour in the computer lab and an hour studying is respectable, don’t you? My brain can’t take any more numbers and letters. Let’s go do something fun.”

 

Eddie checks his watch. His mom isn’t expecting him home until almost dinner time. He had more than enough time to hang out with Beverly, come back to the library to retrieve his bike, and then ride home.  “What did you have in mind?”

 

Bev perks up immediately at the prospect of leaving the library and actually getting to enjoy some of the day. “Let’s go for a walk, the weather is so pretty today.”

 

Deciding on their activity, the duo stuff their books and pencils back inside their bags and then make for the front doors of the library together, shoulder to shoulder.

 

“I guess we’ll have a rough time trying to get Ben over to Richie’s anytime this week, huh?” Eddie asks. The group tries to meet up to work on the film at least once during the week in addition to their day-long sessions at Richie’s house on Saturdays. Any extra time they can manage to devote to the film improves its quality exponentially.

 

“Yeah, we’re pretty much only going to be seeing him at school,” Bev says with a long sigh, looking more wistful than just a friend should. Eddie has a nagging suspicion that Beverly and Ben are tiptoeing around the edge of a real relationship, neither of them quite ready to admit their feelings. When he’s mentioned this to any of the other Losers in passing, they’ve all agreed without so much as blinking, which leads Eddie to believe this has been happening for a while. Bev kicks a rock and watches it scuttle off down the sidewalk.

 

They walk on in comfortable silence, occasionally turning a corner or crossing the street. The weather really is pretty today, Eddie notes, now fully entering autumn with cool breezes and the changing of the leaves. Pretty soon they’ll have to start wearing jackets everywhere.

 

“So,” Bev says, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her dress, “you going to Homecoming?”

 

“Is that happening soon?” Eddie asks, trying to remember if he’s seen any posters or banners around the school.

 

“Not really, I’m just excited,” Bev admits with a smile. “It’s in October, so they’re probably going to let us have a Halloween-themed costume party. The rest of us were talking about going, so I wanted to ask what you think.”

 

“Oh,” Eddie says, so eloquently. “I’ve never really been to a school dance before, but sure. If everyone else is going, I’ll go too.”

 

“Honestly, the only way to properly enjoy a dance is to go with friends. I’ve gone with dates in the past, but it’s always ended in drama or boredom. I’d much rather dance in a big rowdy group with my boys than be stuck with one guy I barely know.”

 

Eddie glances at Bev’s profile and is reassured that she’s definitely beautiful enough to get asked to dances by admirers, something he knows nothing about. Paired with her bright, fiery, witty personality, it’s not difficult to picture her getting burnt out on attending homecomings and proms with guys who only asked her in the first place for completely superficial reasons.

 

“So you’ve never gone with a boyfriend?” Eddie finds himself asking.

 

“Never really _had_ a boyfriend,” Bev replies, shrugging. “I can’t tell if it’s because I don’t want a relationship at all right now, or if my standards are just too high.” Eddie nods, because he’s kind of been wondering the same thing about himself lately.

 

“What about you? Girlfriend?” Bev asks. Whether out of a genuine curiosity or to torture Eddie, he has no idea.

 

“Nope,” he replies, a little too fast. Where Bev had been casual, almost dismissive, Eddie was laughably flustered by the question.

 

Bev shoots him an indecipherable look and then raises both her eyebrows. “Boyfriend?”

 

The question is so unexpected that Eddie almost doesn’t hear it. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk as he chokes on his own spit. “ _What?_ No.”

 

Bev stops beside Eddie and holds up her hands like she’s trying to reason with a frightened animal. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it, Eddie. Just curious. You kind of said no to having a girlfriend like it was _absurd_ , so I thought, you know, maybe…” She smiles and shrugs. “It’s totally okay if you _were_ gay though, you know? I don’t judge.”

 

“I’m… _not_.” Eddie says, and it sounds so pathetically _unsure,_ even to his own ears. It wasn’t until this exact moment that he’d even been introduced to the concept that he, Eddie Kaspbrak, _could_ be gay. After all, his mom had spent his whole life telling him that he could be anything he wanted to be _but_ gay, so it wasn’t like he’d been in the frame of mind to properly entertain that thought; it had always been dismissed before it could occur to him.

 

Bev bites her lip and puts a hand gently on his shoulder. “It’s also okay if you don’t know yet. Soul-searching takes a while. That’s what adolescence is all about, right?” Eddie just stares, and Bev’s confidence falters. “Or I’m just giving you a reassuring speech for no reason, in which case I’ll be quiet now.”

 

Silence falls over them for a moment before they start walking again. Eddie suddenly has a hundred different thoughts churning in his head, and Beverly is quietly wondering if she just singlehandedly made him so uncomfortable that he’s gone mute.

 

“I don’t even know why I’m being weird about this,” Eddie says suddenly. His voice still has the same quiet uncertainty as before, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “I shouldn’t be.”

 

Beverly leads them towards a small children’s park, which is surprisingly void of any children. They cut across the freshly cut grass and climb up into the large plastic castle on the playground, both of them having to hug their knees to their chests in order to fit. The seclusion of their new location makes Eddie relax infinitesimally. He’s comforted by the fact that his friend seemed to know that he needed to be somewhere quieter, more closed off.

 

“I don’t know why I’m freaking out at all,” Eddie admits, feeling his breaths come out a bit shaky.

 

Bev watches him warily. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

 

“No,” Eddie replies, which surprises him a little. “No, I think if it’s freaking me out this much, then… that means there has to be some truth to it.”

 

“Do you want to talk through it?” Beverly asks encouragingly, and when Eddie looks into her eyes he immediately knows that he could come to her about anything, and she wouldn’t judge him or make him feel weird or uncomfortable about it.

 

Eddie just starts talking after that, and as he vocalizes the words in his head, things start making more sense, dots connect. He tells Bev that he’s noticed girls in the past, but never more than to appreciate their hairstyle or clothes before returning to whatever he’d been doing. He’s heard plenty of other boys talk about their crushes in the past, or more specifically their attraction to the way Jennifer Turner’s ass looked in her new jeans, or how Ashley Brown always wore shirts that let her bra peak out. Eddie had never been an actual participant in these discussions, he never even silently agreed with what the other guys were saying as they talked in the desks beside his. He was just left confused, disgusted, and a little frustrated that he didn’t feel the same. He didn’t. He never had.

 

When Eddie gets through a rather impressive list of things that would suggest he wasn’t, in fact, straight, he almost started laughing. Laughing, because this was ridiculous. Ridiculous, because something that was filling him with so much dread was also filling him with so much _relief_. There was a word to describe everything he’d felt and _not_ felt, and it was easy to come to this conclusion once he’d given it any real thought.

 

The next thoughts were not as easy, because they turned to Richie, and the way Eddie had been thinking of him lately. That also made sense, when put into the context of attraction, but it left him feeling less than good about everything. Attraction was definitely worse than just weirdly observing and appreciating your friend, it was a very _specific_ feeling and it likely wouldn’t end well for Eddie. He didn’t mention this part of his revelations out loud to Bev, and luckily everything else he _did_ say was more than enough to preoccupy them both.

 

“So…” Bev says, rubbing circles on the tops of her knees, “you think you actually might be gay?”

 

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly. “Maybe?”

 

Beverly nods. “Well, questioning is a start. You have the rest of your life to figure out the rest, right? No need to have all the answers right now.”

 

“Yeah…” Eddie says, but he wishes he _did_ have all the answers right now. The two of them sit quietly for a moment, before Eddie’s phone chimes twice from the pocket of his shorts. He wordlessly retrieves the device and opens it.

 

 **Richie:** _Hey boo thang_

 

 **Richie:** _Pls answer me soon xoxo_

 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Or, think of the devil and he shall text you? Eddie rolls his eyes. “It’s Richie.”

 

“What’s he want?” Bev asks with mock annoyance.

 

“Let’s find out.”

 

 **Eddie:** _What do you want, Tozier?_

 

 **Richie:** _Youch. We’re on a last name basis now? You’re breaking my heart Eds :(_

 

 **Richie:** _Anyway, I was texting you because I would like your assistance this afternoon if you are available_

 

 **Eddie:** _For what? I’m with Bev at the park rn_

 

 **Richie:** _Wow, cute. You guys are something straight out of a Disney movie. Tell my beautiful candied apple I say hi btw <3_

 

Eddie pauses to show the last message to Bev, which makes her giggle and blow a kiss at the phone.

 

 **Eddie:** _You still haven’t told me what you want_

 

 **Richie:** _Oh! Right lol. I need help on this English paper that’s due on Monday. It’s really been kicking my ass_

 

 **Richie:** _And before you tell me to just ask Bill for help, I already did and he’s busy :/_

 

 **Richie:** _Help me, Obie Wan Ken-aspbrak, you’re my only hope_

 

Eddie tries and fails to hide the smile that tugs at his mouth. He shouldn’t smile at that joke, it was a stupid, stupid joke. Yet he is, because he can hear it in Richie’s terrible impersonation of Princess Leia. “Richie wants me to help him work on an English assignment,” he says to Beverly.

 

“Ugh,” she replies, sticking out her tongue. “I’d say I’d tag along, but that’s too much schoolwork for one day, and I’d just get all three of us distracted.”

 

 **Eddie:** _Bev can’t stand the idea of even being around more schoolwork, so I guess I’ll be over at your house when I’m done hanging out with her_

 

 **Richie:** _Thank you!!! We have refreshments here awaiting your arrival AKA my mom just went to the grocery so we have all the good stuff :))) I owe you my life, Spaghetti. Seriously._

 

“You should probably head over there soon,” Beverly notes. “If you don’t, Richie will get wrapped up in something and he’ll be less than useless by the time you get there.”

 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Eddie agrees, snapping his phone shut and returning it to his pocket.

 

Bev manages to turn around enough to half-slide, half-scoot down the slide attached to the castle, and Eddie crawls out after her so that they can make the trek back towards the library.

 

“So, is there anything else you want to talk about? While we’re still somewhat on the topic?” Bev asks considerately, seeing as Richie had unwittingly interrupted their previous conversation.

 

“No, I think I’m okay for now,” Eddie replies, after a moment of consideration. He _is_ okay for now, at least. He feels a little dazed from today’s discovery, but also optimistic that it’ll help him understand himself better in the future. The part about Richie is…unfortunate, but Eddie supposes that now is as good a time as any to test whether or not what he’s experiencing is _really_ a crush; all he has to do is go over to Richie’s and hang out with him one-on-one.

 

Then he can assess the damage and see what he needs to do to get over it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Eddie isn’t five steps inside the Tozier home before Richie has loaded his arms with Oreos, Doritos, Chips Ahoy (the chewy kind, obviously), an entire unopened box of Cap’n Crunch, a bag of sour gummy worms, and two cans of Dr. Pepper. Eddie thinks he’s going to have a massive heart attack from physical contact alone.

 

“Now, without further ado, let's head upstairs!” Richie declares loudly. They’re alone in the house, so Eddie guesses they can be as loud as they want, it’s not like anyone is around to hear them. When they enter Richie’s bedroom, Eddie dumps his armload of junk food and his backpack onto the unmade bed. Richie takes a seat at his desk, which Eddie notices has been organized at least a little more than it normally is. There’s also an extra chair beside Richie’s that he’s brought up from the dining room.

 

“Okay, so show me the assignment,” Eddie instructs, taking his seat beside the taller boy. Richie hands over a piece of paper, which is wrinkled from being handled and folded multiple times. Eddie scans over the basic parameters of the paper. “So you’re writing an argumentative essay about a current event you feel strongly about. What do you have so far?”

 

Richie smiles sheepishly and opens the word document on his laptop. They’re both greeted by an almost completely blank page, with little more than the heading at the top.

 

“Rich…” Eddie says in a long sigh, and even _he_ can hear how much like a disappointed mother he sounds right now. “It’s due Monday and you haven’t even started on it? What have you been doing for the past two weeks?”

 

Richie groans. “I’ve been doing other assignments, and more than my fair share of goofing off, but this whole last week I’ve really been trying to brainstorm a topic. I’ve come up with squat, though.”

 

“Well, what’s something that you feel passionate about?” Eddie asks. “There’s gotta be something.”

 

Richie pushes his glasses up and pinches at the bridge of his nose, looking both frustrated and thoughtful. “I don’t know, Eds. Gun control? Abortion? Transgender people getting to use the bathroom? I don’t fucking know.”

 

Eddie bites his lip, thinking. “Gun control could be a good topic. It’s one of the most discussed topics in politics these days. You could talk about the NRA feeding propaganda and false rhetoric to the public, how school shootings are increasing in frequency, the protests and walk-outs that have been happening...” He trails off. “There’s plenty of reputable sources and statistics for you to add, too. Then all you have to do is conclude with a way that someone can contribute to changing current gun laws.”

 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Richie says, but he still looks unhappy about it. “I guess this thing is gonna suck to write no matter what topic I pick, huh?”

 

“Argumentative essays are boring and tedious,” Eddie agrees. Most English assignments that aren’t creative are boring and tedious to him, as a matter of fact. “Try working on this for a while and if you get stuck or need me to proof read, let me know.”

 

With that, Richie actually settles in and starts typing, his nimble fingers tapping away at his keyboard while his eyes stay intently focused on the screen. Eddie goes over to Richie’s bed and sits cross-legged, resting his back against the headboard. He figures that he can get the reading for Tuesday and maybe Wednesday done while Richie is working on his essay.The two boys work in comfortable silence, broken up only by the constant clicking of the keyboard.

 

Eddie occasionally looks over at Richie and studies the way the computer screen illuminates his profile with its blueish-white glow, the way his hands move as he types, the focused expression on his face that Eddie rarely sees, the way his eyebrows furrow when he has to backspace a sentence and think of what he really means to say. Eddie only lets himself look for a few seconds at a time before going back to his history textbook.

 

Eventually, they take a break to actually tear into all the food Richie demanded they bring up to the room with them.

 

“Thanks for helping me out again, Eds. I owe you one,” Richie says between dangling gummy worms into his mouth. They’re both sitting on his bed together now, facing each other in mirrored positions.

 

“You don’t have to keep thanking me, you know,” Eddie replies, pretending to be disgusted at the way Richie is chewing over-exaggeratedly. “We’re friends.”

 

Richie smiles so sweetly at those words that Eddie swallows and glances away. “We _are_ friends, huh? Feels like we’ve known each other for forever.”

 

“It does,” Eddie agrees. It was the same feeling he got when he first met Bev, and now she was the first and only person on earth who knew that he may or may not be gay. Being around the other Losers felt equally natural, like they were always meant to be friends. With Richie in particular, conversations flowed so easily that it was easy for even someone as conscientious as Eddie to lose track of time.

 

“It feels like fate, ya know? Like sometimes people just come into your life and it’s meant to be. I think the universe purposely made you move across the street from me.”

 

“So you could finish your English papers on time, right?” Eddie jokes. “I’m like your cosmic tutor.”

 

“Oh, you’re so much more than that, Spaghetti,” Richie says cryptically. He scoops up another handful of gummy worms. “You’re really, really fun to annoy, for example.”

 

“God knows you do a good job of that, Tozier.” Eddie narrows his eyes, but it doesn’t really disguise his amusement. 

 

“Again with the last name,” Richie says, looking offended. “Should I start calling you Kaspbrak?”

 

“Why would you call me that? I’m the one who’s being annoyed right now.”

 

“So I should just keep that name in my pocket in case you ever annoy me too?”

 

“I don’t think it’s even possible for anyone to annoy you,” Eddie replies.

 

Richie’s teasing smile fades into something more genuine. “I get annoyed plenty, Eds. I don’t think you could ever really annoy me, though,” he says, his tone casual as he slides back off the bed and returns to his place at the desk. “You’re too busy making me happy all the dang time.”

 

Eddie’s heartbeat stutters at the words while he stares at the back of Richie’s head, that black mess of curls. These moments of earnestness are what really kill Eddie, the fact that underneath the obnoxious exterior, Richie Tozier is a really nice person. Sometimes even a little too nice for his own good. The boys return once more to their separate tasks, but Eddie only stares at the pages in front of him without really comprehending what the words say. Eventually, after another hour passes, Richie stands up and does a little victory dance.

 

“I take it you’re done?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I am!” Richie replies excitedly. “Or at least I think I am. Mind looking over it?”

 

Eddie obligingly gets up and sits down in Richie’s swivel chair, still warm from his body heat. He reads over the paragraphs while Richie hovers over his shoulder in quiet anticipation of the final verdict.

 

“So?” he asks almost nervously. “Is it acceptable?”

 

“This is pretty good, Rich,” Eddie says. “The argument is strong, you supported your points with several different sources, the conclusion looks good, and you formatted the works cited page correctly.”

 

“Yes!” Richie shouts, fist-pumping into the air like this is some kind of sports movie and they’ve just won the big game. It’s both ridiculous and endearing. “We should celebrate with something fun, like a movie!”

 

Eddie checks his watch and frowns. “Actually, I need to be home soon.”

 

 “Aww, come on Spaghetti! It’s Saturday, why can’t you live a little?” Richie groans childishly.

 

“I’ll see if my mom will let me come back after dinner,” Eddie says. “That’s the best I can offer.”

 

Richie clears away the wreckage of their snacks while Eddie repacks his bag, and the two of them head downstairs.

 

“Y’all come back now, ya hear?” Richie shouts in an awful southern accent as he goes into the kitchen.

 

Eddie walks onward to the door. “I’ll try!” he shouts back, and then he heads outside and back across the street.

 

When he gets home, Sonia is barely starting dinner, expertly stirring something around in a saucepan while steam billows up from the other pots on the stove. Eddie briefly checks in with her and gives a short recounting of his day before he heads upstairs.

 

 _I like him_ , he thinks to himself as soon as he gets his bedroom door shut. _I like him, I like him, I like him. And I have no idea what to do about it._


	10. Chapter 10

As the weeks pass, the film actually starts shaping into something real. For the first time, the jumble of abstract components are all coming together and actually sync up; the animation now has little tunes playing behind it and voices to come out of the characters’ mouths, the lines on the artwork itself become cleaner, and colors are added in over time. The Losers all feverishly push forward with their parts in the project, doing everything they can to make sure they have the best chance of winning. By now it’s been decided that Eddie will do his absolute best to get permission to tag along on the big Spring Break Road Trip (if they win the $500 and can afford it). He isn’t quite sure yet how he’s going to manage to convince his mom to let him leave town for a week. A day in Bangor was one thing, five days in Boston was something else completely. Eddie was bound and determined, though. He wasn’t going to be the only Loser left in Derry during Spring Break. They had five months, give or take, Bill had reasoned; plenty of time to come up with a way to properly convince Sonia. Eddie had everyone’s support in helping to persuade his mom, which definitely upped his chances of pulling it off.

 

It was October now, and all the other Losers were preoccupied with Homecoming plans: group costume ideas, whose house they would all crash at afterwards, whether or not they would be too tired for a movie marathon. Meanwhile, Eddie had spent the last three weeks contemplating his crush on Richie, because that’s what it was now, for a fact. A _crush_. Since that Saturday when Eddie had first confronted his feelings, it was nearly impossible to focus on anything else. Richie himself sure wasn’t making it easy on Eddie.

 

There was that Saturday night, the two of them on Richie’s couch watching _Hush,_ even though Eddie had an admittedly love-hate relationship with horror movies considering how prone he was to stress. Richie would flinch of curse under his breath at the truly terrible parts just like Eddie did, but he also chuckled a lot too, because he had a very obvious, very deep love for anything scary. He was completely fine when Eddie pressed himself into his side or squeezed his arm when the suspense was driving him crazy and he just wanted the bad thing to _just happen already,_ and he’d even reach over and tap Eddie’s shoulder when he was covering his eyes to let him know a particularly tense scene was over. Richie didn’t seem to have any problems with an invasion of personal space in general as long as it was in private.

 

Eddie quickly noticed that while Richie was more than happy to drape himself over Mike while they played video games, or lay with his head squarely in Stan’s lap while they read comic books in his bedroom, his public displays of affection were limited to high fives and shoulder smacks. That being said, Richie more than made up for the lack touching whenever they weren’t at school. Sometimes they were alone on the couch or on his bedroom floor and Richie would scoot way too close and elbow Eddie playfully while they joked around, or ruffle his hair, or pretend to kiss his cheek before being aggressively pushed away. It never felt awkward or uncomfortable, it was just Richie, and his bizarre way of interacting.

 

Sometimes, if Eddie was having a particularly rough day, Richie would drop him off at home on time and then stop by the only coffee shop in Derry, The Grind, and get him something so sweet it could send him into a diabetic coma, which Richie delivered discreetly to Eddie’s front door. Sometimes, he would let Eddie play whatever songs he wanted in the car, or he’d bring him comic books to borrow, or make up some dumb excuse to make Eddie stay with him _just a little longer_ when they hung out in his room after school. He would send obnoxiously clingy texts as soon as Eddie set foot outside of his house.

 

Eddie had done absolutely nothing about it, the crush. He texted Bev from time to time about his personal progress with coming to terms with his orientation, and he’d been steadily researching on the internet and discreetly reading the very few LGBT-related books at the library, even occasionally taking those stupid online quizzes that never gave dependable results. Eddie was 95% sure that he was gay at this point, but it was hard to tell for sure when he only liked one boy so far. He still didn’t tell Bev or anyone else about his feelings for Richie specifically, because they were worsening every day and he knew that if he admitted to having them out loud it would become _real_. He wasn’t ready for things to change, and he was starting to worry that the feelings would only get more intense and ingrained in him as time went on, so all he could do was to continue stubbornly acting like they weren’t there.

 

Richie, true to his word, continued adding songs to [“Welcome to Variety”](https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/1SlBPQVVklfC6iw4xpYW1Y?si=xnbuTy73RTuAK3p_DPE3kg) as the time passed. He explained one day that the playlist was a mixture of songs that Richie thought Eddie would like, songs that Richie personally liked, and songs that reminded Richie either of Eddie or of both of them. It was nearly impossible to tell which was which, but Eddie is damned if he doesn’t try to. He’s desperate for anything that might tell him how Richie feels about him, and yes, he’s fully aware of how pathetic that is.

 

Eddie makes a playlist of his own not too long after Richie makes “Welcome to Variety”. He makes sure it’s private, titles it [“Venting about You”](https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/6joyoJFBeQjMvcA2mLmy6u?si=M1m774j1R0OrMF3hZ5mREQ), and promptly exits out of Spotify in his complete and utter embarrassment and self-loathing. A couple days later, he revisits it and starts hesitantly adding tracks. Soon, Eddie discovers that picking out songs that describe the way he feels and compiling them on one big list is surprisingly cathartic, and a better alternative to writing back-to-back pages about his various emotions concerning Richie. He doesn’t add tracks nearly as often as Richie adds on to the other playlist, but any time Eddie is feeling particularly happy, or longing, or frustrated, he picks out a song and adds it on, then listens to it on repeat until he’s sick of it. Each new song feels like another new facet of Eddie’s feelings, which complicate and grow every day. It’s definitely not a productive way to deal with things, but Eddie’s in desperate need of an outlet and will take what he can get.

 

All of this seems to be working out just fine, until Friday 20th, almost a week before Homecoming. The Losers have all bought their tickets by now, and have been discussing costume ideas for the past two weeks at Beverly’s behest. They finally decide to go as a group of iconic horror characters after a series of long arguments that kept getting derailed, and countless failed attempts at voting. Eddie, in spite of all his protests, gets stuck as Chucky because he’s the smallest in the group, the stipulation being that Bev will go as Tiffany to match him. He’s still complaining about it as he and Richie walk out to the student parking lot, but the taller boy seems to be thinking of something else, smiling dreamily at nothing in particular.

 

“Hey,” he says, interrupting Eddie mid-sentence and not seeming to either notice or care. “I have something to show you.”

 

“I was in the middle of complaining,” Eddie says with a frown, annoyed but amused as always. He can’t ever seem to get fully, properly _mad_ at Richie, there’s always that ever-present undercurrent of affection.

 

“When aren’t you though? No offense.” Richie narrowly dodges the punch aimed at his arm, laughing.

 

“Full offense taken, asshole. What is it?”

 

“I think I’ve just found the most perfect song during English today,” Richie says, obviously pleased with himself. “I added it to your playlist as soon as I saw the title.”

 

“What’s it called?” Eddie asks, curiosity piqued. He can tell by the way Richie is smiling now that he’s played perfectly into his hands, asked just the right question at just the right time. Eddie doesn’t really know why it makes Richie so smug when he manages to do this; after all, he’s notoriously terrible about letting himself be guided and manipulated. It’s not hard to do.

 

“You’ll have to go home and check it out,” Richie replies casually, shrugging. He ignores all the subsequent questioning the entire way home, because he’s an absolutely insufferable boy and Eddie cannot believe he could like someone so obnoxious.

 

Predictably, Eddie goes straight home and opens Spotify as soon as he gets upstairs to his bedroom, where his laptop awaits. His eyes immediately catch on his own name, sitting there at the very bottom of the playlist. [“Eddie Baby”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKWSpXx_c1w) stares back at him, freshly-added and waiting to be played.

 

The song is about what the name implies, a one-sided love song addressed to Eddie, sung by a man. The lyrics talk about teenage romance and laughing and dancing, and it’s equally sad as it is happy. Eddie can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest as he listens, and he’s _so sick_ of being lovesick over Richie Tozier already, but it feels like the feeling is never going to end, no matter how hard he tries to get rid of it or ignore its existence. If he’s not careful, if he listens a little too long or too much, Eddie might start thinking that Richie heard these lyrics and felt just as sticky sweet about him. Thinking, or wondering, or even hoping that these lyrics were meant for him was dangerous, though. Richie probably just thought it was cool and funny that there was a song about him, and that was it.

 

Something nags at Eddie’s thoughts anyway, and it stays that way all night, and through the weekend.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I look ridiculous,” Eddie groans as he stands in front of Beverly’s floor-length mirror. It’s almost an hour before Homecoming, and he’s dressed in a colorful striped shirt and overalls, his hair already dyed orange with colored hairspray. Bev is currently lying on her bed, probably sending a text to Bill to let him know they’re heading over to his house as soon as Eddie stops whining about the way he looks in his costume.

 

“No you don’t,” she says dismissively, sitting upright. It’s startling to see her as a blonde, her signature coppery curls hidden away under a wig cap for the night. The Bride of Chucky’s outfit is much cooler than Chucky’s by far, with the leather jacket and black lipstick, so it’s not like Bev is the one who needs to worry about looking ridiculous tonight. Besides, she could wear a potato sack and make it look good. Eddie, who was already short and skinny to begin with, looked like an _actual_ little kid in this outfit. That was the point, he guessed, but it also felt unfair that everyone else got to look _cool_ while he just looked juvenile and creepy. “Hurry up and get your shoes on, I still need to do your makeup before we go.”

 

At Bev’s impatient wave, Eddie pulls his red Converse on and walks over to the bed. Beverly has spread out an assortment of makeup to use on him, ranging from actual products she probably uses day to day to the stuff they bought at the costume store a few days ago. Eddie closes his eyes and lets Bev get to work. They’ve decided to go with Chucky’s more disfigured look, since it’s more fun to add scars and blood than to leave his face plain and unmarred. She makes Eddie’s eyebrows angrier than usual while she’s at it, which is impressive considering his eyebrows already naturally give him a brooding appearance.

 

“How’s this?” Bev asks finally, holding out a hand mirror. Eddie inspects himself and is amazed by her handiwork. His hair is too short and neat to really look like the character, but his face comes unnervingly close. “You want me to add more?”

 

“I think this is a good place to stop,” Eddie replies. The criss-crossing scars and cuts on his forehead and across one eye are enough to suggest that he’s been through some wear and tear, but he’s still recognizable underneath the makeup. “I want to avoid looking like I have road rash on my face, thanks.”

 

Bev rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway. “Yeah, guess you’re right. We’re going for a subtle evening look.” She quickly packs up her makeup and grabs her purse off the nightstand before turning expectantly to Eddie. “Ready?”

 

“As I’ll ever be,” he replies uneasily, feeling his heartbeat picking up. It’s completely irrational, he knows, but the thought that they’ll go to the dance and no one else is wearing a costume is nerve-wracking, one that won’t go away until they’re actually standing inside the gymnasium tonight and able to see all the other people decked out in masks and witch’s hats.

 

The pair endure having several pictures taken by Bev’s aunt before retrieving their overnight bags from the living room and heading out the door. It’s a short walk from Bev’s house to Bill’s, which Eddie supposes is one of the reasons why the two of them are especially close and hang out so often. He’s wondered once or twice if there’s any hint of a romance, past or potential, there, but has yet to find anything but a deep, platonic love.

 

“So wait,” Eddie says, talking to keep himself calm, “Ben is Freddie, Mike is…?”

 

“Jason,” Bev provides. “Bill is Ghostface from Scream.”

 

“Stan is Hannibal Lecter,” Eddie adds, “and Richie is Ash from Evil Dead.”

 

The street they walk down is decorated end to end with Halloween decorations, not a single house left unadorned with at least a couple pumpkins or faux cobweb. Eddie didn’t know that neighborhoods really participated in house decorating and Trick-or-Treating all that much these days, but then again Derry seemed to be very old fashioned and traditional in a lot of ways. Nearly every tree in every yard they passed was almost completely bare, skeletal branches, the lawns carpeted in various colored leaves that only added to the overall spooky theme. Other parts of the country probably paid to look half as good as the houses in New England, but here they came by it honestly.

 

Bill’s house was bursting with loud laughter and conversation when Bev and Eddie arrived. All the other Losers were already here, each boy in varying degrees of readiness as they all sat together in the Denbrough living room. Stan looked scarily perfect, sitting in the Lay-Z-Boy chair by himself, reading a book that Eddie couldn’t see the cover of from across the room. He’d managed to get his curls slicked back, and he was already wearing Hannibal’s iconic blue jumpsuit and shoes. Mike and Ben were both similarly ready, sitting cross-legged together on the floor with their mask and hat, respectively, lying beside them.

 

Bill was wearing a plain t-shirt and black pants when he answered the door, which Eddie guessed was understandable when he only needed to pull on the black cloak and the mask when they were ready to leave. Richie, well, he was predictably not ready at all. When Eddie and Bev first walked into the living room, they were immediately met with compliments on their costumes from everyone, and Richie unsurprisingly jumped up from the couch to gush over them both. Aside from Eddie, Bev was subjected to Richie’s fawning the most; he was constantly showering her in compliments and flirting that she almost always reciprocated jokingly.

 

“ _Yowza_ ,” he says as he strolls over to them both, whistling for emphasis, “Bev, you look so hot I’m sweating just standing beside you.” He tugs at his shirt like he’s trying to cool himself off, then turns eagerly to Eddie, grinning even wider upon inspecting him head to toe. “And Spaghetti, you’ve gotta be the cutest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

 

“I’m not cute, I’m _homicidal_ ,” Eddie replies darkly, pulling out the plastic butcher’s knife from the deep pocket of his overalls and brandishing it at the taller boy.

 

Richie laughs at that, taking a step back. “You’re _both_ ,” he says cheerfully. “That’s what makes the costume so perfect for you.”

 

“ _Rich_ ,” Bev cuts in, irritation obvious in her voice. “What the fuck, man?” She gestures at the plain white undershirt and jeans he’s wearing. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

 

“Because I’m useless without your talents, Bev,” Richie whines dramatically. “Please help me.”

 

“ _Ugh,_ I think you mean you’re lazy without me here to kick your ass into gear,” Bev grumbles, going over to the couch to grab the reusable grocery bag where Richie has presumably stuffed his costume. Eddie sits with Ben and Mike on the floor while Bev drags Richie off in the direction of the bathroom.

 

After a short eternity, Richie and Bev emerge. Eddie looks up and knows in that moment that he is truly _screwed_ , because Richie looks unfairly, _undeniably_ hot in his costume. His hair, too long for the character, has been expertly greased back out of his face, and contact lenses have replaced his trademark chunky glasses. He’s wearing Ash’s blue button up shirt with the first few buttons undone, tucked into nondescript brown pants and worn with the matching black boots. It’s definitely the most “toned down” Richie has ever looked since Eddie met him, but his appearance is also so unadorned by the colors and layers he wears all the time that it’s even more noticeable than usual. Without everything covering him up, Richie’s handsome face is fully visible, as is the actual, honest shape of his torso under the tight shirt he’s wearing. Even with blood spattered on his face, it’s like one of those moments in a teen movie where a girl gets a drastic makeover. The silence that falls over the room tells Eddie that he’s not the only one who thinks so.

 

“Try to pick your jaws off the floor, fellas, it’s just little ol' me,” Richie says with his usual bravado, but there’s the slightest hint of bashfulness there that almost goes unnoticed. Everyone rolls their eyes at this and the spell is broken, the room returning to the usual chatter. After Bev gets finished with the scars on Ben’s face, the teenagers all pile into Bill’s mom’s van and they head to the school.

 

Eddie can’t believe his eyes when they walk into the gym. For one thing, it no longer reeks, and that alone is nothing short of a miracle, but the large room is also decorated floor-to-ceiling in everything from banners to streamers to cobwebs and ghosts hanging from strings overhead. To add to the ambiance, a fog machine is steadily pumping out a mist which clings to the floor and makes it hard for anyone to see their feet. A DJ has set up his turntables and speakers at one far wall of the gym, where the bleachers have been pushed flat to help create the dance floor. On the other end of the room is a long buffet style table filled with different foods and punch, as well as a photo booth. Eddie is impressed beyond words that Derry High was able to coordinate and set all of this up.

 

“They really outdid themselves this year,” Bev says from beside Eddie. She has him by the elbow, either because they’re wearing matching costumes or because she can sense his tenseness. “This looks awesome.”

 

For the first half of the dance the DJ plays nothing but the typical Halloween songs, anything from “Monster Mash” to “Time Warp”, which Richie and Bev dance to enthusiastically. For the most part, the Losers find a table to inhabit, take turns going up to the table to get plates of food, and talk amongst themselves. This, Eddie thinks, he can handle. Occasionally, a couple of them will go to the dance floor for a song or two, and one of those people is usually Richie. When “Thriller” comes on for the second time, he nearly pries Eddie out of his chair so that they can all go make fools of themselves as a group. Eddie knows this dance of course, he’s seen the music video an embarrassing number of times, but that’s not the point. The point is, he’s terrified of public humiliation. Dancing in the den of his own home was bad enough, the middle of the gym was simply out of the question. Unfortunately, Richie was just as stubborn as Eddie, and he wasn't taking no for an answer.

 

“Come on, Eds,” he says, less forceful than before. He’d quickly learned to switch tactics with Eddie when one particular method was getting him nowhere fast. “Just stick by me the whole time. It’ll be fun.”

 

Eddie scrunches up his nose and prepares to fire off his smart-mouthed rebuttal, but then he looks out at the dance floor and sees that all the other Losers are there, moving clumsily to the song while all of them wear dopey grins. The lights are dim enough that it’s hard to make out what mistakes they’re making with the footwork or arms movements, if any. He looks back up at Richie then, sees the pleading look on his face, and gives in. He grudgingly takes the outstretched hand and allows himself to be pulled over to the rest of the Losers.

 

Miraculously, no one points and laughs at Eddie once he joins the dancing. In fact, no one pays him any attention at all, other than the occasional look from one of the other Losers. It’s liberating, Eddie decides, the anonymity the dance floor provides. Here in the dark, surrounded by other people who were all much more concerned with themselves, he was invisible, free to do whatever he wanted without judgement.

 

The song ended too soon, but it was followed by the Ghostbusters theme song, which made Richie howl with excitement, the sound of it drowned out by the volume of the music. He beamed at Eddie, who felt himself return the look, and together with the others, they danced like idiots, pulling stupid moves on purpose to make each other laugh. After that was “Somebody’s Watching Me”, followed by “The Addams Family”. Eddie danced until exhaustion and dehydration forced him off the dance floor. The Losers retreated to their table to rest their feet and drink more punch. This time around, Richie took a seat squarely beside Eddie, forcing Stan to sit beside Mike where Richie had formerly been seated.

 

“Having fun?” he asks over the volume of the music, still looking far too handsome for his own good. There was one disobedient curl that was breaking free of whatever product Bev had used to tame Richie’s hair, and Eddie’s hands itched to reach up and push it back into place.

 

“Yeah, I am,” Eddie admits. He’d expected to have fun tonight, but somehow hadn’t pictured himself cutting loose and dancing this much. “You were right when you said I should just not think about it.” They have to sit close in order to talk, and the proximity is making Eddie a little sweaty, but he pretends it’s because they’ve all been moving so much. Excess body heat, that’s all.

 

Richie nods approvingly. Before he can say anything more, Bev snags him and whisks him away to some unknown location in or around the gym. Eddie moves his chair closer to the remaining people at the table and they make small talk and eat more of the sweets off the buffet table as the music transitions from Halloween-themed songs to regular songs one might expect to hear at a dance.

 

“So, is your first d-dance g-going well?” Bill asks when there’s a lull in the conversation. He’s looking at Eddie with a smile, his posture relaxed and maybe a little tired.

 

“Yeah,” Eddie replies, fiddling absently with the plastic cup in his hands. He’s steadily reaching the point of overstimulation now and is starting to wonder when they’ll decide to head home for the night. It has nothing to do with the fact that Richie is no longer here to make things more fun.

 

Ben gives Eddie a knowing look from his spot on the other side of Bill. “Dances are always kind of overwhelming at first, but it’s like cold water; it’s fine once you get used to it.”

 

“I didn’t really know what to expect, other than what I’ve seen in movies,” Eddie says, shrugging. “But it’s a lot more heat and smells than I was expecting, I guess.”

 

“The guys really do lay the Axe body spray on thick, huh?” Mike jokes. “Better than nothing, though.”

 

“If it smelled like BO do you think we could actually notice?” Stan asks. “I mean, it’s the gym. It always stinks of sweat in here, so what’s one more night?”

 

Mike frowns. “Are you really saying you’d rather it smell like pits and ass in here?”

 

“I’m just saying that the smell of sweat doesn’t give me a headache like _Wolf’s Steel Midnight Ice Storm_ , or whatever they fucking call it.”

 

Eddie is about to throw in that he’d rather that it smell neither like Axe body spray nor a giant armpit, when someone taps his shoulder. When he looks up, he sees that Richie and Bev have returned from wherever they’d gone. They both smell faintly of smoke, so he can take a wild guess.

 

“Wanna dance?” Richie asks while Bev walks around the table to take a seat beside Ben. The connotation of this question takes a moment to sink in: Richie is asking Eddie to dance with him. Just the two of them. At Homecoming. Eddie glances at the others, who seem to have already moved on to a new random argument, and quickly decides to get up and follow Richie back to the dance floor before anyone can start questioning why he’s just frozen in place contemplating whether or not he should go. _Don’t act like it’s a big deal_ , he thinks. _It’s not a big deal_.

 

Right as they arrive at the edge of the crowd of couples and groups who are already dancing, a high energy song ends and another fast-paced one takes its place. Instead of having to really hold onto each other, the two of them just dance facing each other, grinning because no one knows how stupid they look right now except for them. They’re completely alone, surrounded by people. Eddie is really starting to see the appeal of dances and clubs now, the liberation of not having to worry about appearances is practically intoxicating.

 

The song changes again after that, [this time beginning with mellow guitar strumming instead of anything too heavy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6v9_if6YAk). It’s still a little fast, but the two boys still get closer and Richie leads them, just like he did on Eddie’s birthday. It makes sense, considering he’s a great deal taller, so Eddie can’t really complain. It’s not like he knows what he’s doing anyway.

 

“ _You got a look in your eyes (your eyes)_

 

_I knew you in a past life_

 

_One glance and the avalanche drops. One look and my heartbeat stops.”_

 

The lyrics sink into Eddie’s very body as they dance together. It so perfectly frames this moment, and how he feels right now. The chorus makes him ache to kiss Richie right then in the dark, where no one can see them. He feels bolder than usual, braver, but he still doesn’t dare. This illusion is fragile, the slightest movement could shatter it. He can’t risk it. Maybe he’s just making excuses, and he’s really just a coward.

 

_“Ships pass in the night_

 

_I don't want to wait 'til the next life_

 

_One glance and the avalanche drops. One look and my heartbeat stops.”_

 

The song ends, and Eddie already knows he’s going to find it and add it to “Venting about You” as soon as he gets home. Richie looks tired, but also incandescently happy, the exact look he wears sometimes that makes Eddie wonder what he thinks when he looks at him, what he sees in Eddie that makes him smile like that. He doesn’t question it tonight, just burns it into his memory so he can play it over and over for the rest of his pathetic life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The rest of the night is a giant happy blur. Everyone is completely exhausted by the time they’ve all showered off their makeup, so they simply collapse into Bill’s living room with their pillows and blankets and fall asleep with the TV on. The next morning is domestic and slow, Bill’s mom making pancakes for all the kids while they drink coffee and change out of their pajamas. It's late afternoon when Eddie finally gets home. He can’t remember such a fun weekend, even by the Losers’ standards. He thinks about Richie’s smile from last night while he opens Spotify, and after a couple quick Google searches, he finds the name of the song he’s looking for and adds it to “Venting about You”. Almost out of muscle memory more than anything else, Eddie checks “Welcome to Variety” while he’s there, and his heart nearly jumps in his chest when he sees that Richie has also added the song to this playlist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psyche! I made TWO playlists because I love biting off more than I can chew:
> 
> Welcome to Variety: https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/1SlBPQVVklfC6iw4xpYW1Y?si=xnbuTy73RTuAK3p_DPE3kg
> 
> Venting about You: https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/6joyoJFBeQjMvcA2mLmy6u?si=ZMCNki1LRGqmB89vr3lbWg


	11. Chapter 11

November crept in while no one was paying attention. Right up until this point, the atmosphere of the Losers’ work station had been hurried, but laid back overall, like there was still room for them to occasionally goof off. Now it was _fast and furious_ , absolute chaos that had exploded out into every corner of the Toziers’ dining room. Everyone was working in overdrive to get things ready, but Eddie was particularly worried about Bill, who had to shoulder the burden of finishing the animation all on his own, the thing that their film’s success hinged on. He’d never seen the other boy look this tired; Bill’s typically bright demeanor was now dull and grey, and he treated everyone with the same irritable brusqueness. The bags under Bill’s eyes were particularly monstrous, even when compared to the ones that were perpetually under Richie’s eyes.

 

“Hey Bill,” Eddie tries to say gently. It’s Saturday the 18th, a week before the film festival, and by now all the other Losers have given up on trying to communicate with Bill at all, even Mike, who just recently got his head bitten off for trying to get him to take a food break. Eddie has found that he’s an exception to a lot of the Losers’ rules, though. For example, he’s the only one who’s allowed to talk to Stan while he’s studying, the only one who gets to play his own music in Richie’s car, and the only one Bev will open up to about her frustrating feelings regarding Ben. Bill also has a particular soft spot for Eddie, so there’s reason to believe he’s the one who can persuade his friend to stop running himself into the ground. “It’s getting pretty late. Maybe we should stop for the night and start again tomorrow? Looking at that monitor in the dark can’t be good for your eyes.”

 

Bill sits back in the chair and groans softly, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “I’m almost done with this s-s-sequence,” he says, voice flat with exhaustion. “I’ll just finish this up f-first and then crash on the c-c-couch. You sh-should head home, though.”

 

“ _Bill_ ,” Eddie repeats, a bit more firmly this time, “you need to sleep. Everyone is worrying about you, you’re not going to be satisfied with what you’re doing while you’re tired, and frankly, you’ve been kind of an ass for the past couple of days.”

 

Bill frowns at these words, obviously wanting to argue with Eddie, but then he looks at his computer screen and up at Eddie’s unwavering expression, and swallows whatever pointed comment he was going to make. “Fine, I’ll stop for the night.” He holds his hands up in a gesture of his surrender before busily closing his programs and shutting his laptop. Eddie waits while Bill slowly rises to his feet, then guides him to the living room so that he can flop down onto the couch and immediately pass out. All the other Losers are either asleep or have gone home for the night, and as much as Eddie wishes he could just curl up on the floor between Stan and Mike, he knows he has to return home before his mother’s curfew.

 

“Wow, you got him down? I’m impressed,” a hushed voice says from behind Eddie. He jumps at the sound of it, then relaxes when he sees that it’s just Richie, who’s now looking very amused that he was able to startle Eddie.

 

“Jesus, why aren’t you this quiet when we’re at school?” Eddie hisses, covering up his embarrassment with annoyance as usual.

 

“Because that’s no fun,” Richie answers, smiling. He looks at the three boys who are all fast asleep in his living room, then back at Eddie. “Time for you to head out?” He looks a little disappointed, which is the same look he always gives Eddie whenever he has to leave. Eddie hates leaving just as much as Richie hates seeing him go, but that look makes it a little easier.

 

“Yeah, or my mom will come across the street in five minutes and accost your whole family,” Eddie replies. It’s a joke, sure, but there’s too much truth in it to quite be funny. He wouldn’t want to put Richie’s parents through the horrors that Sonia could unleash, they were nice people. “Walk me back?” he asks, almost as an afterthought.

 

Richie perks up at this. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?” he replies. The two boys slip out as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the rest of the house. It really _is_ late, almost midnight. The air is crisp and cold by this point in the year, and Eddie is bundled in his wool-lined jacket, but Richie is just walking along completely barefoot, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and his pajama pants. _Idiot_ , Eddie thinks.

 

This late at night it feels like they’re the only two people on Earth, the complete absence of light or sound or other people creates a very specific kind of intimacy. Eddie, in spite of his nose going numb, wishes it was a farther walk from Richie’s house to his, so they could share in the quiet together for a few minutes longer. As it is, they just occasionally glance at each other while they walk down the sidewalk and smile in the way you sometimes do with a close friend. They’re both very vocal people, but sometimes they don’t need words.

 

When they arrive at Eddie’s front door, Richie positions himself on the porch as a buffer from the wind while Eddie digs his keys out of his jacket pocket. When he jams the correct key into the lock but doesn’t yet turn it, the two turn to face each other for their goodbyes.

 

“Well, goodnight Spaghetti,” Richie says in a low voice, apparently still being mindful of his volume. His tone is the kind where you can _hear_ his smile, even if it’s hard to see in the dim light.

 

“Goodnight, Rich,” Eddie replies, his own tone probably indicating that he is harboring a massive crush, but if Richie can hear that he doesn’t comment on it.

 

Richie looks like he’s about to say something else, brows furrowed and bottom lip pulled in between his teeth, but just as soon as the expression forms, it’s gone, as if Eddie only conjured it up with the shadows playing across his face. He backs a couple steps away from Eddie, taking his body heat with him, does some bizarre salute, and turns back towards his house. Eddie watches him disappear across the street, sighs in frustration, and finally unlocks his door to get out of the wind.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The last week before the film festival goes from frenzied panic to cold apprehension. The Losers have poured every spare minute of free time into putting the finishing touches on the film as the time they have left dwindles, layering each component over one another until the sound matches perfectly with the action. The official run-time is 5 and a half minutes, which they agreed was damn respectable when considering it was a film created by seven high school students with very few resources.

 

They were officially finished by Wednesday, which meant Thursday, Friday, and the majority of Saturday were nothing but anxiously waiting to be disappointed when they didn’t actually win, and their efforts were all for naught. Richie tried his best to get the others excited, but even he was a little uneasy as the day of the festival finally arrived.

 

“We have nothing to lose when you think about it, guys,” he insists as they drive to the Derry fair grounds, where the event coordinators will show all the film entries of each category via a projector aimed at the large, blank wall. “It’s not like they’ll throw rocks and boo at us if they don’t like it. And we’re probably gonna walk away with $500, so I don’t know why everyone is being so quiet.” Whether this was actual confidence in their film, who could say for sure. Eddie was willing to bet it was the silence driving Richie insane.

 

“We’re all a little nervous, Rich,” Beverly says not unkindly from the passenger seat, glancing over her shoulder at Richie. “So forgive us if we don’t feel like talking.”

 

“I’m feeling a bit nauseous, to be honest,” Ben says anxiously from the back row. Mike claps his shoulder, either to comfort him or as a gentle warning not to barf on him, should the need arise. “I’m worried that excessive talking will end badly for all of us.”

 

“All you peoples’ gloom and doom is going to fuck up our mojo,” Richie says, crossing his arms like the giant child he is. “Which is a shame, ya know, considering we’ve spent three months making a kick ass movie.”

 

“We’ll be fine,” Bill says calmly as he turns onto the road that leads directly to the fair grounds. “I just don’t want to g-get my hopes up just yet.” Richie huffs and leans back against the seat, and Stan gives him a sideway glance that says  _behave yourself_.

 

Eddie quietly notes that Richie responds to stress by becoming petulant and irritable, adding this fact to the growing list of Richie-related things he’s been keeping in his head. He’s starting to see things past the charisma and big smiles, all the things that might make Richie difficult, or downright hard to be around at times. The more dimensions of Richie that Eddie sees, the stronger he feels about him, though. For a while, Eddie had desperately hoped his feelings would diminish when he saw all the flaws, but now he was just resigned to inevitably getting his heart broken somewhere down the line.

 

The fair grounds were bustling when the Losers arrived, vendors setting up booths and stands for various foods and even some merchandise for the event. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a carnival, but he supposed that when a town was as small as Derry, any occasion warranted going all out. From the looks of it, at least half the town was here tonight, milling around with popcorn and t-shirts that say “Derry Film Festival 2017”.

 

The anxiety in the car is palpable when Bill parks. He doesn’t give the others any reassuring words, just gets out of the car, stony faced, and waits for them to follow suit. They move together as a group, cutting straight through the crowd on their way to check in with the even coordinators and make sure that everything is ready to go. Bill brought the film on his flash-drive just in case they needed to provide a different copy, but that was the only indication of his doubts about their success.

 

The Losers kill time by walking around the fair grounds to see everything there is to see. The sun has started to set, so there’s only half an hour or so before they begin showing films. The animated films wouldn’t be shown until after the live action categories, followed by the judges deliberating, announcing the winners, and awarding the prizes. The waiting is getting to everyone.

 

Eventually, the crowds begin gathering towards the back of the lot, where the large brick building that will serve as their screen is butted up against it. People are laying out picnic blankets on the grass and bundling up in quilts and scarves as they settle into their collapsible lawn chairs. An announcer from the projector stand welcomes the audience to the festival, tells them to find a place to be seated and that the movies will begin soon. The Losers all file over to an unoccupied patch of grass and sit down in a huddle, sharing nervous glances at each other as they rub their hands on their jeans or tuck their faces into the collar of their jackets. This was it. They’d done everything they could do, all that was left was to be judged. Richie scoots closer to Eddie, so that their shoulders are pressed together, turning his head to give him a look that says _well, here goes nothing_.

 

Most of the live-action movies are good. Really good. Enough so that they manage to distract the Losers, let them think about something other than their nerves. Some of the writing is cringey, and the acting is wildly inconsistent from person to person, but even the truly bad parts are fun, if only to make fun of. Richie has no trouble mouthing off during an awkward pause between two actors, or an unnecessary, forced kiss scene. The Losers muffle laughter into their hands so they don’t annoy the adults sitting around them too much. Between each different category, the announcer’s voice crackles on and presents the next one. His nasally voice drags out certain words and pauses in odd places, so the Losers all pinch their noses and take turns imitating it in hushed tones. They agree that Stan’s interpretation comes closest.

 

After a short eternity of live-action films, it was finally time for the animated category. Richie grabs Eddie’s gloved hand in his bare one, and even with a layer of fabric between their skin Eddie can feel his warmth seeping through. He glances at the taller boy, but Richie’s eyes are trained solely on the screen in front of them with intense concentration. He squeezes Eddie’s hand, the only giveaway that he’s just as nervous as the rest of the Losers. Eddie squeezes back, then turns his eyes to the screen.

 

Their competition isn’t as intimidating as Eddie assumed. Some are pretty good overall, others are lacking any music or speaking lines. Some have music or speaking lines that were better left out. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ben and Bill sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, Ben absently biting at his nails and Bill’s arms crossed. Beverly is hugging her knees her chest to Eddie’s other side, Stan’s head resting on her shoulder. The entire group feels the same tension, holding a shared breath as they wait for their movie title to cross the screen.

 

Finally, the latest film fades out and _Pennywise the Dancing Clown and The Big Flood_ appears in big red letters. Richie is practically vibrating in place beside Eddie with all his barely-concealed excitement, and he lets out a loud whoop that makes the people around them shoot a warning glare. The Losers all smile giddily at each other as the animation slowly begins, accompanied by Beverly’s melodies and Richie’s sound effects. Bill’s art style is perfect for this medium, Eddie thinks. The lines are thin as a single penstroke, and the colors are muted as though painted with water colors, both these details creating a simplistic and somber mood. The motions aren’t perfectly fluid, but the slightly rigid effect it creates only adds to the sinister undertone of the film.

 

Watching it on a computer screen is one thing, but projected 40 feet tall and hearing the audio out of a proper speaker system is something else completely. The audience responds well to the dialogue, they laugh at the little jokes Richie peppered in, and Stan’s utterly disinterested monotone as he narrates along. The visuals themselves were stunning. Bill is incredibly talented, and with proper honing his skills could become professional. Eddie quietly decides that he will push him to make a portfolio for himself so that he can start applying to art schools. Sonia’s voice crowds into Eddie’s thoughts then, about how important it was to turn applications in promptly, to make as good a first impression as possible, to apply for as many scholarships as you can to make sure you’re utilizing as many resources as are available to you. Eddie swallows down his sudden nausea as his own anxiety creeps in, and tries to focus instead on the ending of their film, which fades out to thunderous applause. Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand in order to jump to his feet and cheer obnoxiously with both arms raised above his head. Beside him, Beverly sticks her fingers in her mouth to whistle sharply. The rest of the Losers simply sit and clap along with the rest of the audience, too nervous to celebrate just yet.

 

The rest of the entries pass by in somewhat of a blur, not really paid as much attention as the Losers murmur amongst themselves about the success of their own film, discussing what their personal confidence in it winning are. Most of them are assured now, excitement and hope far outshining any residual nervousness.

 

Eventually, the stadium lights come on, signaling that all entries had been shown.

 

“Ladies and gentleman, the judges will now deliberate and return shortly with their final selections for the 2017 Derry Film Festival. Please feel free to take this time to visit our local vendors at the front of the lot, or to stay seated and wait for the announcement. We ask that the contestants please stay in the vicinity and stand by for the results. Thank you for your patience.”

 

“Holy shit,” Richie says in an exhale, like it’s all one word.

 

The group all turn where they sit to face each other in a misshapen circle.

 

“It’s the moment of truth,” Ben says with wide eyes, his fingers absently twisting at the hem of his sweater.

 

“W-we just have to have f-faith in our work,” Bill says with conviction. “It’s up to the judges now.”

 

They sit in relative silence, too jittery to make small-talk, too worried that they’ll mishear an announcement if they’re distracted.

 

The November temperatures at night are almost unbearable. Eddie doesn’t know which idiot’s idea it was to host the festival outside, but he and his numb hands want a word with them. Beverly’s cheeks and nose are reddened by the steady breeze against her pale skin, and she’s currently wrapping herself tighter into the men’s jacket she’s been wearing since the weather truly became cold. Mike and Richie seem to be the only two members of the group who are unaffected by the weather, the former wearing nothing more than a Henley with an unbuttoned flannel shirt over it, and the latter wearing a t-shirt over a thermal long-sleeved shirt. Eddie sighs to himself because he knows he’ll bring them soup and cough syrup if either of them catch a cold, because that’s just who he is. He’ll relish in chewing them out if they do.

 

After far too long spent huddled together and wringing their hands, the announcer’s voice crackles back on over the speakers.

 

Eddie didn’t hear the other winners as they were listed and scattered applause rippled out through the crowd that has gathered, his tunnel vision had narrowed his perception down to the animated category alone. As the Losers felt the results approaching, they linked hands and braced themselves for the best and worst case scenarios.

 

“…And finally, the winner of the animated category, walking away with $500, is… _Pennywise the Dancing Clown_!”

 

The announcer didn’t even get through Pennywise’s name before the Losers were sweeping each other into hugs as they cheered and screamed, the sound of their voices drowned out by the final applause from the people around them. Richie nearly bowled Mike over in a bear hug before turning back around and scooping Eddie right off the ground. He spun around once, then put the smaller boy back down. Eddie was about to yell at him about manhandling, just like he would on any other day, but all that came out of his mouth was breathless laughter. Eddie had never felt the pride or giddiness in being part of something before, of belonging to a group that had come together and created something that had a piece of each of their souls in it. He didn’t think anything on earth could bring him down from such a high, not even Richie, with his blatant disregard for personal boundaries, and his stupidly beautiful smile.

 

Bill, who was the least hysterical of the group, was chosen to go up to collect the prize money and shake the judge’s hands. He came back with an envelope held proudly in his hand and announced that he was taking everyone to IHOP, which earned him another round of cheers. Bev slung an arm over Eddie’s shoulders as they walked back through the fairgrounds towards the car, the motion causing them to lose their balance for a moment, but they both just laughed as they stumbled, and eventually straightened themselves out. Eddie wrapped his arm around her waist to help stabilize them.

 

“Now all that’s left is to get your mom on board for the big trip,” Bev says with a smile.

 

“Yeah, the next big challenge,” Eddie replies grimly. “You thought that making a movie was hard? Wait until we take on Sonia Kaspbrak, asking her if her only child can be out of her sight for a whole week.”

 

“Cheer up,” she says, using the hand on Eddie’s shoulder to give a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure the seven of us will make a worthy adversary. We just have to be methodical about it.”

 

Eddie nods, although he isn’t totally convinced. His mother is obstinate and flippant on a good day, it’ll be nigh impossible to get her to give an inch of control away, much less to a bunch of teenagers. Still, Eddie can hope.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Richie was practically bouncing off the walls at IHOP, bursting with pure joy and excitement, talking a mile a minute about their big Spring Break Trip and how he just _knew_ they’d win. Of course they’d won, they were the Lucky Seven, after all. Nothing could touch them when they worked together. Buoyed by their victory, and with their road trip now within their grasp, it was hard to argue with him, or even tell him to shut up.

 

They feasted on pancakes and hash browns and omelets until only syrup-stained plates remained, and then they loaded back up into Bill’s mom’s van for the journey back home. Mike’s house was the first stop, then Stan’s, then Ben’s, and finally Eddie and Richie’s. Bill idled in front of the Tozier residence, seemingly as off-put by Eddie’s house as the rest of the Losers were. Eddie didn’t take offence to this, it was the rational response when a house was occupied by a hostile entity. He also didn’t mind because it meant there was an excellent chance that Richie would walk him home.

 

With a final wave, Bill and Bev disappeared down the street and around the corner in the direction of their own neighborhood. It was nearly ten o’clock. Eddie looked at Richie almost expectantly, who caught his eye and nodded in silent agreement. Together they turned away from Richie’s house and began the short walk to Eddie’s.

 

“So,” Richie says, his breath coming out in a white puff that drifts into the wind, “sorry that the playlist has been lacking this month. I think I’m gonna go home and add a few songs before I crash.”

 

Eddie feels excitement prick at him, but keeps it to himself. “No need to be sorry. I don’t mind waiting,” he says good-naturedly.

 

“That’s good, ‘cause sometimes I just get distracted and forget to do things,” Richie admits with a soft laugh. “Or sometimes I find a song but I hold onto it, until it feels right. Does that make sense? I queue up some tracks and sit on them until they fit.”

 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Eddie agrees, but he silently wonders what songs Richie is keeping to himself and waiting to add, and why.

 

They arrive at the front door too quickly. Eddie turns to Richie and smiles at him. He loves all of his friends, but these little moments where it’s just the two of them are his favorite parts of the day.

 

“Goodnight, Spaghetti,” Richie says, mirroring Eddie’s dopey smile with his own. “Tomorrow we begin the plot to convince your jailor to set you free.”

 

“I’m rooting for you, believe me,” Eddie replies, feeling tired at just the thought of this undertaking. It’ll be worth it, he thinks, spending the next three months relentlessly chipping away at his mother for a week away with his friends. “It’s not going to be easy.”

 

“We’re the Lucky Seven,” Richie reminds him with a wink. “Nothing we can’t do together.”

 

“ _Goodnight Richie_ ,” Eddie says with a huff that’s supposed to be exasperated, but instead sounds dangerously close to _affectionate_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! 
> 
> Eddie's playlist:   
> https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/6joyoJFBeQjMvcA2mLmy6u?si=8s4wMrf5RZOhL2a6VR_lFg
> 
> Richie's playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/1SlBPQVVklfC6iw4xpYW1Y?si=77woI6ghQL2vAudn7ZbdSA


	12. Chapter 12

Richie’s heater stopped working two days before the first snowfall of the season, December 9th. Eddie crawls into the passenger seat on that very bitter Monday morning, irritable and bundled in two sweaters and a coat, a scarf coiled around his neck and a ski cap pulled over his head for good measure. To prove that Eddie isn’t just being dramatic, even Richie seemed affected by the temperature, not wearing nearly as much as Eddie, but a heavy jacket over a hoodie nonetheless. He grimaces as he takes his spot in the driver’s seat and they begin the miserable ride to school.

 

“How long do you think it’ll take to get it fixed?” Eddie asks, trying consciously to keep the bite out of his voice. It’s not Richie’s fault that the car is breaking down, it’s an old model for a high school kid to use to get to and from school, and occasionally to the quarry or the convenience store. They can’t expect it to be in tip-top shape all the time.

 

“Who knows?” Richie replies, sounding a little bitter himself, but it’s just an edge to his voice that’ll probably ebb away soon. “Tried to talk to my dad about it this morning, but he blew me off. I think he’s stressed about work. I’ll try to ask him tonight, if he isn’t late.” He lets out a frustrated sigh before suddenly looking over at Eddie with the beginning of a smile. “At least I get to see you all rolled up in your coat like a little marshmallow.  I thought you couldn’t possibly get cuter, but you always go and prove me wrong.”

 

“ _Ugh_ ,” Eddie groans, exasperated. “I’m too cold to put up with your shit right now, Rich.”

 

“I know, I know,” Richie concedes, even sounding a little apologetic. “I think I’m a little too cold to keep teasing you right now.” He stops at an intersection and pauses to flex his hands, which must be cold enough for the joints to ache, without any gloves to protect them.

 

“You should invest in some more winter clothes.” Eddie observes, trying and failing not to sound judgmental. 

 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Richie replies easily, wrapping his fingers back around the wheel. “I’m naturally warm.”

 

 _I know_ , Eddie thinks but doesn’t say. That would be a weird thing for him to say, even though it was true.

 

“You could at least use some gloves,” Eddie counters. “Driving gloves, maybe.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Richie keeps his eyes on the school as it comes into view, suppressing a shiver. “At least we only have one more week before Winter Break.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eddie is going to tell Richie on Friday that he likes him in a not-so-platonic way. It’s an absolutely _terrifying_ thought, but he’s already worked himself up to it, so there’s no going back now. The last several weeks have been pure misery, and it won’t stop until there’s a definitive answer. There’s no way around it, Eddie knows that now. This is the only way to get some kind of closure. At this point, he’s desperate for anything.

 

Eddie had been too cold that morning to think about it then, but he’s definitely been distracted all day, and will be for the rest of the week. The thought is constant, and every single scenario, good and bad, is racing through his mind one after the other. The people around him could be saying anything and he would be none the wiser.

 

School has been more of the same since the film festival, the only thing that changes is how much colder it continues to grow. The Losers all wear increasingly more layers of clothes and spend lunchtime planning their trip, far too excited to realize that it’s still months away, and that they have plenty of time to figure things out. Today, they’re discussing the logistics of places to stay, and Eddie is only halfway paying attention to what everyone is saying.

 

“We’ll be staying at motels for most of the week,” Stan says while doing the mental math of their combined funds versus the number of days they’re staying and the going rates for most motels, “but maybe on the last night we can find a reasonably-priced hotel to stay at?”

 

“My dad offered to h-help us out if we won the film festival,” Bill reminds them. “So I think we could do that, n-no pr-problem.”

 

“My mom’s given me some extra money, too,” Ben says. “Not enough that we can stay at five star hotels all week, but maybe not at the cheapest motels, either.”

 

“What about your mom, Ed?” Mike asks. “Have you broached the subject yet?”

 

“Shit—” Richie suddenly exclaims from the far end of the table. The Losers all turn their heads to see that he’s just exploded the ketchup packet he’d been mindlessly squeezing in his hand while they’d been talking. The condiment has splattered all over the table and parts of Richie.

 

“Come on, Rich,” Bev groans, wiping a splotch that had landed on her arm. They’re all looking around for napkins, but there are none.

 

“I’ll be back,” Richie grumbles, standing up from the table with a grimace with his arms held out to keep them from smearing ketchup on anything else. He walks off to the back of the cafeteria, where the table that holds the utensils and napkins resides.

 

Eddie watches him go, shaking his head. “I haven’t brought it up yet, but I will soon. Kind of waiting to see if I can catch her in a good mood.”

 

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Is she ever in a good mood?”

 

“Sometimes.” Eddie shrugs. “If we’ve just eaten and she’s watching her TV shows. Or sometimes in the morning.” Maybe he’ll ask for permission to go as his Christmas present this year. Any family-oriented time seems to put Sonia at ease, the certainty that her son will spend time with her.

 

“Well,” Mike says, offering a sympathetic smile, “be sure to keep us updated.”

 

That afternoon, Sonia is out doing errands, so Eddie invites Richie to hang out for a while. The two boys go upstairs to Eddie’s room and sit together on his bed to watch a movie on his laptop.

 

“Wow, I think this is the fifth time I’ve ever been in here,” Richie remarks, counting up each occasion on his fingers. “We’re always over at my place.”

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Eddie replies, suddenly feeling guilty for imposing in the Toziers’ home so often. He wishes he could have Richie over for a change sometimes, but Sonia is just so difficult to reason with.

 

“No no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Richie corrects himself quickly, realizing the way his words had sounded. “I like having you over, I promise. And my parents love you, they think you’re a good influence on me.” He grins reassuringly. “I think they’d adopt you if you let them.”

 

“Yeah well,” Eddie mumbles, “I might let them if they offered. Beats living with a woman who doesn’t even allow my friends to come over.”

 

“I think she’s coming around,” Richie says, ever the optimist. “I mean, before you came to Derry you never had to do this, right? Ask permission to go do stuff.”

 

“Because I didn’t have any friends before now,” Eddie supplies, because Richie wouldn’t actually say that out loud.

 

“So now,” he continues, neatly sidestepping, “she’s having to learn to adjust. Already, she’s gone from only letting you out an hour at a time to letting you leave town with us for an entire day. And she lets you hang out at my house a lot, within reason.”

 

“Are you actually taking her side?” Eddie questions, but his voice isn’t angry, just curious. Richie isn’t really lying, and he’s not defending any of Sonia’s more damaging behaviors.

 

“Not exactly," Richie responds, obviously uncomfortable with the thought of aligning himself with Sonia, "but I’m saying maybe if you keep proving that the world won’t end just because you hang out with your friends, she’ll come around. Sucks that you have to do that, but it looks like it’s working so far.”

 

Eddie is quiet for a moment. “I keep forgetting how smart you are sometimes,” he says begrudgingly. Richie laughs.

 

“Maybe you should stop _misunderestimating_ me, then.”

 

“I would, if you stopped doing such stupid things all the time,” Eddie fires back, laughing too as he reaches over and picks at a fleck of dried ketchup on Richie’s sleeve. “Like saying ‘ _misunderestimating_ ’.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Richie says, shrugging, “it’s worth it when you smile like that.”

 

Eddie presses his lips together and turns his focus back to searching online for a movie to watch.

 

* * *

 

 

On Tuesday, they get into an argument while walking out of the school.

 

“What do you mean you’ve never driven a car?” Richie asks, eyes comically wide. “Like, never?”

 

Eddie rolls his eyes, feeling irritation tightening in his shoulders. “No, Richie. I’ve never driven a car. I know how to do everything in theory, but my mom still hasn’t let me start practicing. I don’t even have my learner’s permit yet.”

 

Richie stares as they continue to walk to his car, then stops and holds out his car keys to Eddie.

 

“What do you want me to do with those?” Eddie asks, looking back and forth at the keys dangling from Richie’s hand and to up to his face. When Richie only looks expectantly back and thrust the keys forward again, Eddie shakes his head. “No way. I’m not driving your car, Rich.”

 

“It’s easy,” Richie insists. “And I’ll be right there in the passenger seat talking you through it, or reaching over to grab the wheel if I need to. It’s no big deal, our street is like seven minutes away.”

 

“I’m not going to get us killed in your rust bucket that doesn’t even have a working heater, Richie. Not to mention it’s so fucking illegal.”

 

“Stop overthinking, it’ll be fine.” Richie presses the keys into Eddie’s unwilling hands. “We can go real slow.”

 

Eddie is consciously trying to calm his breathing. “I don’t…”

 

“You can do it,” Richie says, almost dismissively. “You know how theoretically, right?”

 

“Are you sure?” Eddie’s fingers turn the keys over in his hands, eyebrows drawn together in a look of uncertainty. “Like, what if—”

 

At this point, Richie turns and walks over to the passenger side of his car and waits there. “Hurry up, Eds. It’s cold out here.”

 

Eddie silently curses Richie, blames him for both of their imminent deaths, and asks his mom for forgiveness before he drags his feet over to the driver side. He jams the key into the lock and wrenches the door open like he’s seen Richie do a hundred times before. It’s gotten even stickier in this cold weather. Eddie unlocks the other doors and climbs inside, shutting his behind him. He pulls his seatbelt on tightly, because it’s the only thing that might save him from being ejected through the windshield when they inevitably wreck. Richie joins him just a moment later, tossing his backpack into the backseat like this is just another normal ride home from school, and not an awful, awful _, terrible_ idea.

 

“Alright,” Richie says, pausing to clip in his seatbelt, “so, after seatbelts, you wanna lock the doors and check all your mirrors. Then you put the key in the ignition and turn it forward until you hear the engine start.” Eddie can’t tell if Richie genuinely cares about these safety precautions, or if he’s saying this to put him at ease. His voice is more soothing than usual, he’s leaning forward in his seat to gesture at everything while he talks.

 

“There are all your gauges right here: your speed, gas tank. Pull this stick up to signal right, down to signal left. Now, put your foot on the brake. Brake is on the left and gas is right, right?” Eddie nods. “Okay, so now the car is on, you’re about to put it in reverse. Pull this lever over and down until you see it hit R. You’ve got it.”

 

Eddie feels his heart hammering in his chest, his breath shuddering as his fingers wrap around the wheel. If he takes his foot off the brake right now, the car will move. The car is on, and he’s in control of it. Oh God.

 

“You’re gonna back up now,” Richie says, looking over his shoulder. “Look over your shoulder to check for cars and go really, really slow, okay? Like don’t even touch the gas yet, just take your foot off the brake.”

 

Eddie takes a long, deep breath and turns to look over his shoulder as he gradually eases his foot off the brake. The car begins gently rolling backwards.

 

“Now, start turning the wheel,” Richie instructs. “Wait, other way,” he corrects, reaching over to grab the wheel and gently pull it in the other direction. “Okay, stop. Put it drive.” Eddie slowly turns back around and shifts over to D. “Good. Now you can go forward and out of the lot.”

 

Eddie takes his foot off the brake ever-so-slowly, then gradually presses it onto the gas. The car accelerates infinitesimally, crawling towards the entrance of the student parking lot. He stops when he gets there, looking carefully at both sides of the street. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie sees Richie checking too.

 

“You’re clear. Head out onto the street.”

 

Eddie clenches the steering wheel tight as he takes on the road in front of him one stretch at a time. He knows the route back to Richie’s house like the back of his hand, but it doesn’t make this experience any less terrifying. He sweats through his undershirt, despite how freezing it is. His eyes search for flashing police lights that never appear.

 

Suddenly, they’re parked in front of Richie’s house. Eddie has no idea how they’ve arrived here, alive and well, and yet they are.

 

“You did it, Eds!” Richie announces, sounding genuinely excited and proud. “You drove! How do you feel?”

 

“Nauseous,” Eddie says, turning the car off and handing the keys back to Richie. “I hate you.”

 

“No you don’t,” Richie says cheerfully. “Come on, smile! You did so good, Eddie. Bev didn’t do half as well when I taught her last year.”

 

“You taught Bev to drive?” Eddie asks dubiously. “She let you put her through this?”

 

“I helped her practice,” Richie says, shrugging. “I was the first of us to learn how to drive.”

 

Eddie lets out a shaky breath. “Well,” he says, not knowing what else to say. Driving was really…scary. Exhilarating. He would never have done it without Richie.

 

“We can do this again, if you want,” Richie offers. “Some other time, when you feel ready.” He’s still looking at Eddie with that bright, encouraging smile, and Eddie can’t help but slowly mirror the expression.

 

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

 

“Fine,” Richie relents. “I think you’re a natural, if that makes you feel any better,” he adds with a wink.

 

It _does_ make Eddie feel better. It makes him feel _fantastic_ , and it has nothing to do with the fact that he just successfully drove a car for the first time.

 

All Eddie can think is: _three more days, and I’ll tell him._

 

* * *

 

 

On Wednesday, Richie runs into Eddie and his mom at the grocery store. He looks disheveled from the blustery winds outside as he jogs over to them, his scarf and jacket askew and his hair a windblown mess. Sonia gives him a halfhearted glare before returning to scrutinizing the broccoli.

 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Richie says with a grin. “Hey, Mrs. K,” he adds politely, catching her eye once more to make sure she heard his greeting before returning his attention to Eddie.

 

“I feel like you’re stalking me at this point,” Eddie jokes. It hadn’t even been 45 minutes since they drove home from school together.

 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Richie replies casually, following them as Sonia pushes the cart on to the next aisle. “There're only two grocery stores in town. I came here to get milk for my mom.”

 

“Shouldn’t you go do that, then? The dairy is on the other side of the store,” Eddie questions with a raised brow, his smile teasing.

 

“I was headed in that direction, but then I saw you,” Richie says simply. “So, naturally, I came right over.”

 

“Do me a favor,” Sonia says irritably, “if you’re going to follow us around, at least make yourself useful.” She points to a box that’s on the tallest shelf, which neither she nor Eddie are tall enough to reach.

 

“Sure thing,” Richie replies pleasantly, reaching up with one long arm to grab the box and put it into the cart. The three of them move on to the next thing on Sonia’s list. She pushes the cart in front of her like it’s a bulldozer, Richie and Eddie cautiously walking behind her.

 

They wind their way through the entire store, Richie occasionally using his superior height to retrieve items for Sonia from the tallest shelves, while Eddie crouches low for things on the very bottom shelves. It’s a strangely domestic scene, Richie tagging along to help them grocery shop while he talks to Eddie like they haven’t just seen each other at school. The most amazing thing of all is that Sonia doesn’t seem to mind it all that much.

 

“Well, here we are,” Eddie says, gesturing around them, “the dairy aisle.”

 

“Yeah, my mom’s probably been waiting long enough. I should grab some milk and head out.” Richie smiles sheepishly. “I’ll text ya later, Spaghetti. Bye Mrs. K.” He waves at both of them respectively, before taking a jug of milk off a nearby shelf and disappearing towards the cash registers.

 

“That boy is odd,” Sonia observes, her lips pressed together the same way that Eddie’s sometimes do.

 

“But he’s nice, right?” Eddie asks hopefully. All he wants is for his mom to like his friends. That would make everything so much easier.

 

“Yes, I suppose,” she replies with a small, almost approving nod. “You seem to like him an awful lot.”

 

Eddie’s skin crawls at the words, because he knows deep down that she wouldn’t like Richie at all if she knew _just how much_ Eddie likes him.

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

Two more days.

 

* * *

 

 

 On Thursday, they go with Bill to the library under the guise of a study session for the very real English test they have on Friday. In reality, they’re goofing off for an hour while the librarians send them less-than-subtle glares. All three of them have their copies of _The Catcher in the Rye_ on the table, but they might as well still be in their backpacks. They’ve been writing a nonsensical story for the last twenty minutes by taking turns writing sentences.

 

“S-so,” Bill says, shoving the paper across to Richie. “I was thinking w-we could watch a movie at my place tomorrow.”

 

“I can ask my mom tonight, but no promises,” Eddie says, watching Richie busily scribble out the next line of their ridiculous story.

 

“If it w-would make it easier, we could go there straight from school,” Bill offers. “Order a p-pizza for dinner. You’d be home by s-seven, tops.”

 

“It’s short notice, is what I’m worried about.” Eddie shrugs, taking the paper from Richie as soon as he’s finished. “Even though it's the day before Winter Break starts. I’ll ask, though.”

 

Richie leans his head over on Eddie’s shoulder to read as he writes, snorting in quiet amusement so as not to incur the wrath of the librarians again. Bill’s eyes flicker between the two of them with a long, searching look.

 

“What?” Eddie asks, feeling his skin prickle self-consciously under his friend’s scrutiny. His hand stills mid-sentence. Richie keeps his head leaned against Eddie’s shoulder but flicks his eyes up to also meet Bill’s curiously.

 

“Nothing,” Bill says finally, seeming unsatisfied by what he had or hadn’t seen.

 

“Take a picture, Denbrough,” Richie says, his voice prickling with surprising defensiveness, “it’ll last longer.”

 

“It’s nothing, I p-p-promise, _jeez_ ,” Bill replies, pulling the paper to himself for the next contribution. Richie sits upright in his chair again, because there’s no reason to stay so close to Eddie anymore. The spot on his shoulder where Richie’s head just was is still warm and tingly.

 

One more day.

 

* * *

 

 

On Friday, the Losers all gather at Bill’s house for movie night. Eddie and Richie will have to leave before 7:00, as per Eddie’s agreement with his mom, but that’s enough time to watch a movie and eat pizza with his friends.

 

They argue for ten minutes about what to watch, as is tradition for every movie night, then scroll through Netflix before settling on _Snakes on a Plane,_ which Mike argues is “delightfully terrible”. After spending one hour and 46 minutes watching Samuel L. Jackson deal with all those motherfucking snakes on that motherfucking plane, it’s time to go. Reluctantly, as always, Eddie says goodbye to the others and heads to the car with Richie only one step behind him.

 

“Ah, good times,” Richie says as he digs the keys out of his jacket pocket. “Mr. Samuel L. Jackson is truly one of the world’s finest actors.” He looks tired, Eddie notes. More so than usual. Maybe it’s a good thing they’re heading home early, even though Richie will probably just stay up late by himself anyway.

 

“I don’t think anyone else could’ve pulled that off,” Eddie agrees. “Did you know it was actually the fans who had him put _the line_ in?”

 

“I did not,” Richie replies, nodding his head at this new information. “I did know that they wanted to name the movie something else originally, but he told them they were stupid and that it should be called ‘ _Deadly-Ass Snakes on a Plane_ ’.” He gets the doors unlocked and they both climb aboard the car. Eddie feels his pulse quicken as he fastens the seatbelt, because at the end of this short drive, he’s going to do it. He’s going to tell Richie how he feels once and for all, come what may.

 

“You okay?” Richie asks, his hand stilled on the key in the ignition, because he’s noticed Eddie’s discomfort. Of course he has, he’s Richie. Only oblivious when it’s convenient to him.

 

“Fine,” Eddie replies, swallowing even though his throat is dry.

 

Richie doesn’t look like he buys it completely, but he starts the car anyway, and they begin the short trip to their street. He turns on the radio and lets it play at a hum, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

 

Eddie steals too many glances whenever he thinks Richie is too focused on driving to notice, his hands twisting together in his lap, wringing each other almost painfully. When they reach the corner to turn onto their street, Richie turns to him with a teasing smile and asks, “Do I have something on my face or what?”

 

“What?” Eddie asks, kicking himself because the clueless route is a stupid one to take when you’ve already been caught.

 

“You’ve been looking at me an awful lot,” Richie replies. “Just wanted to make sure I don’t have a booger hanging out of my nose or something.”

 

“It’s not that,” Eddie says, feeling both on the verge of tears and throwing up. The car turns and cruises towards Richie’s house and _this is the moment_.

 

_For once in your life, don’t be a coward._

 

“What is it, then?” Richie asks, his smile from before slowly turning to one of genuine curiosity. “Is something up?” There, at the edge of his voice, is concern. _You see?_ Eddie thinks. _This is why I like you. If you weren’t so pretty and nice to me, I wouldn’t have anything to confess._

 

The car creeps to a stop in front of Richie’s house, and it is freezing cold. Eddie has made the conversation intensify by remaining awkwardly quiet through Richie’s questioning. His lighthearted tone is extinguishing, replaced by worry. The longer Eddie waits, the more this awful tension will grow.

 

“Eds?” Richie asks, raising an eyebrow. “For real, what’s up?”

 

Eddie takes a deep inhale, his clammy hands rubbing up and down his pants. He can see his breath when he exhales, a pale cloud that disappears in seconds. The radio has cut off with the engine, so the car is completely silent. It’s dark out already, recreating that feeling that they’re being the only two people on earth; the same feeling Eddie had liked before, only for it to feel suffocating now.

 

_Now or never._

 

Eddie unclips his seatbelt, letting it slide through his hand until it returns to its resting position. He leans over the console between the two seats, and presses a really fast, really messy kiss to Richie’s surprised mouth. He pulls back almost immediately in shock of his own stupid action. He’d planned to use his words before his lips, but evidently that wasn’t going to happen. So, plan B. Which happened to be the clumsiest little peck in the history of Terrible First Kisses.

 

Eddie’s eyes search Richie’s face, desperate for a response. The other boy’s eyes are wide, he’s blinking in disbelief at what just happened, and the expression is disconcertingly blank. His body, usually relaxed and open, is rigid and closed off. Eddie’s never seen this particular look on him before and has no idea how to interpret it. That’s when he finally finds his voice again.

 

“I like you,” he blurts. Then, because Richie is still just staring, Eddie keeps going. “I’ve liked you for weeks, and I didn’t know how to tell you without fucking up our friendship, and I-I _panicked_. I just—couldn’t take it anymore, you know? I wanted to know how you felt—how you _feel_ , and,” his breathing is close to hyperventilating, “ _please_ say something, Rich, or I’m gonna throw up.”

 

Eddie is having a full-blown freak-out now, because he wasn’t sure how this was going to go, or what he expected, but it wasn’t _this_. He hadn’t prepared for a total shut-down.

 

“Richie?” Eddie asks, and hates how close to tears he sounds. But God, he’s _so scared_ that this is the worst-case scenario. He reaches over and gently nudges Richie’s arm.

 

Like suddenly awakening from a trance, Richie jolts slightly at the touch. Then he starts shaking his head, and Eddie can feel his heart on the verge of imploding like a dying star. “Eds…I….I’m sorry….” he says, his eyes searching for an answer he can’t begin to find, his brows drawn together in confusion, “I’m…I’m not… _that_. I can’t like you _like that_.” Somewhere on his face, it looks like Richie’s heart is imploding too. “I’m not _that_ ,” he repeats.

 

Oh God. This really is worst-case scenario.

 

The bottom of Eddie’s stomach drops out. He feels lightheaded as he blindly grasps at the door handle and shoves it open. He clambers out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him with more force than necessary, then turns and paces as fast as he can down the quiet, darkened street, hoping desperately that he won’t cry until he gets to his bedroom. Richie doesn’t follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was such a pain to write but now it's done and i get to write even more angst for the next chapter lol
> 
> anywayyy 
> 
> Richie's Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/1SlBPQVVklfC6iw4xpYW1Y?si=iesBadY8R3yKMXfSqNoCxQ
> 
> Eddie's Playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/6joyoJFBeQjMvcA2mLmy6u?si=y4hyuR75R9ygzTJdKaTw8A


	13. Chapter 13

When Eddie comes bursting through the front door and storms upstairs, Sonia is too engrossed in the TV to notice, and for the first time in a long while he appreciates her lack of genuine concern for her son’s wellbeing. He locks his bedroom door, just in case she changes her mind, and throws his entire body onto his bed hard enough to hurt, his face stinging from the impact. He rolls over on his back after a moment and feels the sudden hot flush in his face, the pressure that’s building up behind his eyes, pushing forward through his tear ducts.

 

When the tears _do_ come, they’re more out of mortified embarrassment than devastation at the moment. Eddie figures that the devastation will come, too, in time, but right now he just focuses on feeling like an idiot for being so completely wrong about something so important. Eddie covers his mouth at first, to muffle the sobs that tear themselves loose from his chest, but eventually he gives up because the feeling of suffocating--of _drowning in his own snot_ \--is too overwhelming. And it’s not like his mom will hear him, not from all the way downstairs.

 

Untold hours pass before Eddie can even think straight, the lines between them blur with the full-force crying that trickles down to slow tears that roll silently down his face and into his ears, and the dull, unceasing ache in his chest that feels like a slow death. Eddie doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s late and his head hurts. The single window in his room that frames the tree just outside is pitch black, he can’t even make out the skeleton branches waving back and forth in the harsh winter wind.

 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” he mumbles into his empty bedroom, his voice ragged and stuffed-up. That’s been the mantra in his brain while he’s been hitting his head against the mattress and groaning unintelligibly at random intervals between crying fits; it was the only coherent thought he could manage to string together with any success. It _didn’t_ make sense. Since they met, Richie had done a million little things that had made Eddie think that maybe, just _maybe_ he felt the same. He’d been the one who looked for Eddie the most frantically in Bangor, he’d offered to drive Eddie to school _every single day,_ play-flirted constantly, asked Eddie to dance even when there were better partners around, and walked him home every night they hung out, to name just a few examples. Had that all been in Eddie’s head?  Had he been so far gone that that every little gesture was twisted and construed as romantic interest? Had all the meaningful pauses and _that inexplicable look_ in his eyes just been figments of Eddie’s imagination?

 

They just _got_ each other, didn’t they? No matter what differences they had, like Eddie’s borderline-compulsive cleanliness versus Richie’s chronic messiness, they always seemed to understand each other so completely, even with just a _look_ shared between them. That kind of connection didn’t feel common, it wasn’t anything like the way Eddie felt around any of the other Losers. It was _special_. Or, at least, Eddie had thought so. Maybe this whole friendship had been incongruent the entire time, maybe Richie simply spent so much time with Eddie because they were neighbors; it was convenient and nothing more.

 

Or, more likely and much more upsetting: Richie _did_ love Eddie, their friendship _was_ special, but he _still_ didn’t like Eddie _that way_ , and there was no reality in which he ever would.

 

Of course, Eddie had also noticed plenty of signs that perhaps Richie was uninterested, or _uncomfortable_ , even: The fact that he didn’t like public displays of affection with his male friends, the way that he had snapped at Bill in the library when he’d drawn attention to them sitting close together, and how he couldn’t even bring himself to say the word “gay” out loud tonight. Eddie’s gut sinks at the thought of Richie being disgusted with him, that he’s sitting in his own bedroom across the street right now, thinking about every time Eddie had sat too close or stared too long, and feeling repulsed.

 

The sadness, frustration and--worst of all--the _burning shame_ all fighting for dominance in Eddie’s head was enough to keep him wadded up in his comforter in his bedroom for days on end. The beautiful thing about getting rejected by your best friend right before the start of Winter Break was that you didn’t have to leave your bed for the next two weeks if you really wanted to. Eddie spent day after day holed up in his room, coming downstairs only to eat and utter a couple words to his mom before disappearing upstairs again. It was miserable for several reasons, but especially because it was so _familiar_. In Portland, this was simply the way that Eddie lived, albeit probably less mopey and heartbroken. Ever since moving to Derry, he’d been aware of how much better he felt with friends around, but the sudden lack of them felt so unbearably empty and alone, like he was missing a part of himself.

 

Richie doesn’t call, or text, or climb through his window in the middle of the night. After soaking in heartache for half of the first week, the anger sets in. Eddie still feels a baseline ache in his chest, but now frustration knifes its way in. It had been _five days_  now and Richie hadn’t made _any_ attempt to make things right, or to even pretend like Friday night had never happened, which would’ve irritated Eddie but was also at least a sign that Richie wanted to keep being friends. Instead, there was radio silence and frustration with nobody to point it at but himself.

 

Eddie kept his phone on the entire time, but he didn’t read or reply to the messages that accumulated in his absence, just let the knowledge that his silence meant something to his friends, and prompted them to worry about what had happened. He was very aware of how selfish he was being, making the Losers wonder about him while he just laid there and watched the notifications rack up on his phone screen, but he just couldn't bring himself to reach out to any of them. On Thursday, Eddie decided five days enough time spent without contact. He finally answered each of his friends with quick apologies, but gave no real detail as to where he’d been or why he hadn’t talked to anyone since Friday. No one was asking about Richie, which meant that he was still talking to all of them and probably hadn’t told anyone what happened between him and Eddie, a fact that Eddie was simultaneously grateful for and resentful of.

 

Eddie called Beverly that afternoon.

 

“Hello?” 

 

“Can I come over?” Eddie asks, feeling a little odd for not hearing her voice in so long. There’s shuffling and maybe another voice in the background before Bev speaks again.

 

“Yeah, of course. Stan’s over here right now, is that cool? He said he’ll leave if you want to talk one on one with me.”

 

Anyone that wasn’t Richie was fine by Eddie. “That’s alright. I’ll be over in fifteen.”

 

The walk to Bev’s was miserably cold, and Eddie longed for a heated vehicle instead of his snow boots trudging along the sidewalk. The streets were shoveled, thankfully, but there was still slush covering every walkway, which made the going slow and hazardous. When Eddie passed the Toziers’ big grey house, the rusty old car was missing from its usual place on the street out front. He walked on as if he didn’t wonder or care where it was.

 

Bev answers the door almost as soon as Eddie knocks. She looks worried, her hazel eyes scanning over him before she finally steps aside so that he can get out of the cold. He steps out of his boots and shrugs off his coat while she stands there patiently.

 

“So,” Bev asks hesitantly, “where have you been? None of us have heard anything in days. Are you okay?”

 

Eddie gestures wordlessly towards Bev’s room and she obliges, leading them down the hall and into the more private space. Stan is seated on her bed, looking uneasy while they get the door shut.

 

“So,” Eddie begins, “have either of you heard from Richie?”

 

Bev and Stan share a look before returning their eyes to Eddie, curious and perhaps just a little bit wary, and both of them intuitive enough to know that this conversation is winding up to something bigger. “Yeah,” Stan replies slowly, “but he’s also been acting weird. So, what’s up?”

 

“Well…” Eddie doesn’t even know where to begin. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since Friday night.”

 

“Did he seem off or anything when you two drove back from Bill’s?” Bev asks, at the same time Stan asks, “What did he do?”

 

Eddie clears his throat and sits down in Bev’s desk chair, feeling the burning weight of both his friends’ eyes on him. “He didn’t do anything.” And then, “I kissed him.”

 

Beverly and Stan both look taken off-guard by this news. Bev’s eyes are wide in surprise and concern, while Stan sits forward with his shoulders squared and jaw set ever-so-slightly, something insoluble in his eyes.

 

“I’ve…liked him for weeks. So,” Eddie pauses awkwardly, unsure of how his friends will react, if they’ll say that Richie was justified in his reaction, or lack thereof; after witnessing Richie’s own response, anything seemed possible. He clears his throat, “so, I told him on Friday, after we got back from the movie at Bill’s.”

 

“And what did he say?” Bev asks, sitting forward in her spot on the bed. She already knows that Eddie hasn’t spoken to anyone since Friday, and that Richie has apparently been acting strange too. Surely, she’s put two and two together and realized that something went very wrong. It shows on her face, the fine lines that reveal themselves with this new expression, lines that shouldn’t be on a face so young.

 

“He said,” Eddie starts, and his voice shakes no matter how hard he tries to keep it strapped down, “that he wasn’t _that_ , that he couldn’t like me _like that_.” The words hurt just as much when Eddie repeats them as when they were first spoken to him. He can still hear them in Richie’s voice, carved into his memory, the suffocating, tiny space of Richie’s shitty car, the shadows changing his familiar face into the face of a stranger. 

 

Bev winces at the words, unable to say anything but a soft, “ _Oh, Eddie_.”

 

Stan curses under his breath, the tension of his shoulders finally making sense to Eddie: he’s _angry_.

 

“I’m going to kill him,” he says resolutely. The declaration throws Eddie off, the fact that Richie’s oldest and very best friend would defend Eddie so fiercely when he’s only known him for a few months by comparison. It didn’t seem to fully sink in until just now that the Losers were as dedicated to Eddie’s wellbeing as they were to any other member of the group. There were no sides to take, only mistakes to correct.

 

“I just--” Eddie doesn’t know what. He stumbles with his words, sounding more like Bill than himself. This is a more difficult subject to talk about than he thought, even after five days of stewing in his feelings and gathering his thoughts. “I wish this had never happened. I ruined everything.”

 

Beverly suddenly looks fiercely at him, frowning hard. “Nothing is ruined, Eddie. Don’t you ever be guilty for feeling what you feel, okay? Even if Richie doesn’t feel the same way, he shouldn’t have said that to you, and he shouldn’t have left things like that. You two are best friends.”

 

“Well, maybe not anymore,” Eddie says flatly, “he couldn’t even bring himself to say the word ‘gay’ out loud, couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

 

“Derry,” Stan says, a resigned, tired edge to his voice. “Derry is a tiny, bigoted town, Ed. You have to understand the context. Most people you ask on the street will still say that interracial couples are a sin, so good luck if you’re gay. Doesn’t matter that we’re in the 21st century now, they’ll stay close-minded until the day they die. That kind of mindset is so insidious and toxic that even little kids can’t escape it. A lot of us have had to grow up unlearning that shit. I did for sure.”

 

Beverly nods in agreement while Stan talks. “Richie has always had trouble shaking off that mindset, even if his heart is in the right place. I think _logically_ he knows that it isn’t right to think that way, but he still has the knee-jerk reaction. That doesn’t excuse his behavior, but I think there’s more to it than plain old homophobia, and we need to get to the bottom of it.”

 

“I don’t even _want_ to talk to him right now, I think,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to fix this, and he doesn’t seem to even want to try.”

 

“We’ll get through this together,” Bev says with a determination that says she’ll will it into existence if she has to, move heaven and earth if it means her friends will be okay, “just like we do with everything else. You can count on us, even when Richie messes up.”

 

“ _Especially_ when Richie messes up,” Stan adds, standing up from the bed and brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants. “I’m going to go talk to him, okay? I’ll see what’s actually going on in that walnut-sized brain of his.” He walks to the desk on his way out the door to squeeze Eddie’s shoulder reassuringly, then pauses in the doorway before adding, “So actually check your phone from now on,” and disappearing down the hall.

 

* * *

 

 

Bill shows up at Eddie’s door the next day.

 

“H-hey,” he says with a hesitant smile. “I wanted to c-come over and see how you’re d-d-doing. Don’t want you to g-grow mold, or something.”

 

“I’m okay, Bill,” Eddie lies, mustering a quick upturn at the corners of his mouth. Sonia is at work, so he steps aside and lets Bill inside without making a big production of it. The two boys walk quietly upstairs and sit shoulder-to-shoulder on Eddie’s bed.

 

“Bev got me c-caught up,” Bill says into the silence between them. “Stan says he’s f-figuring things out with Richie. They’ve been at Stan’s since y-yesterday.”

 

“This whole thing is ridiculous,” Eddie mutters. “I wish we could all just pretend none of this ever happened and move on.”

 

“I know. Hopefully not much longer,” Bill replies sympathetically, patting Eddie’s back. “I didn’t really c-come over to talk about this, though. Not if you don’t want t-to, I mean.”

 

“What did you want to talk about then?” Eddie asks, grateful for any distraction Bill can offer.

 

“Bev is having her annual Christmas party,” Bill says with a wry grin. “O-or, her non-religion-specific Holiday p-p-party, as Stan would say.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says, because he’d completely forgotten that it was coming up. “Tomorrow, right? And, Richie will…?”

 

Bill nods. “Richie’s g-going. Maybe being around each other in a group s-s-setting would be easier than one on one, if you d-don’t see each other before then.”

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Eddie replies, but he isn’t fully convinced. “We’re still doing White Elephant gifts, right?”

 

“Yeah, anything $15 and under.”

 

They talk on about the party after that, then Eddie puts on some background music and they just talk about nothing at all, the incredibly dull details of their lives that suddenly become funny when they tell each other. They make stupid jokes and laugh until they’re both clutching their sides and wiping the corners of their eyes. It’s the first time in days that Eddie feels anywhere close to normal, and he feels eternally grateful to Bill for that. His humor isn’t as _in your face_ as Richie’s is, and his way of speaking in general is gentler than Richie’s bulldozer verbal domination, which is very refreshing. It was like sitting in a peaceful forest after being at a rock concert all night, and reminded Eddie that each of his friends could offer things he needed, not just one.

 

“Y-you know,” Bill says as they lay sideways across Eddie’s bed, turned on their sides to face each other while they talk, “you could’ve told me that you like boys. Or any of us.”

 

“I only told Bev because she was there when I realized it,” Eddie admits uneasily, after he recovers from his initial surprise that Bill is bringing this up. “I didn’t even know how to deal with it when I first figured it out, and I was afraid of what the rest of you would think. I felt grateful that even Bev would be so understanding about it.” He pauses to look over at Bill, scrunching up his face in confusion. “Why are you laughing?”

 

Bill catches Eddie’s hand before he can properly smack his arm, attempting to even out his breathing. “I'm s-s-sorry. It’s just--” he manages, then takes a deep breath and finally stops laughing. “Most of us are into b-boys, Eddie.”

 

“What?!” Eddie cries indignantly, eyes comically wide as he sits upright. “You’re telling me that everyone in our group is gay?”

 

That sends Bill into another fit of laughter. “No, no. I’m _bi_. Stan and Mike are gay, and we’re p-p-pretty sure Bev and Ben are just straight.”

 

“What?” Eddie repeats, not sounding any less shocked than the first time. “Really?” How had he missed this glaring revelation?

 

“Well, yeah. It’s n-not unheard of, you know? B-birds of a feather, and all that.” Bill is being so casual, like this is a universal truth that Eddie just happened to miss out on. “W-we haven’t exactly d-directly talked about it as a group yet, but I think we all just kind of know it. O-or at least most of us do.” Excluding Eddie and Richie, to be sure.

 

“I guess that makes it mostly even, then,” Eddie says bitterly. “With Richie, that makes four queers and three heteros.”

 

Bill shakes his head, amusement still glimmering faintly in his eyes. “I s-s-seriously doubt that, Ed.”

 

Eddie sighs in exasperation. “Bill, he said—“

 

“I know w-w-what he said,” Bill clarifies. “I’m not s-s-saying that he isn’t _s-stupid_ , I’m saying that maybe he just doesn’t realize it yet.”

 

“So, you think he’s in denial,” Eddie says impassively, and Bill nods. “Well, that doesn’t fix jack shit, Bill. He could be in denial for the rest of his life for all we know. And that doesn’t mean he feels that way about _me,_ either.”

 

“He said, ‘ _I can’t like you’_ , not ‘ _I don’t like you_ ’, is all I’m saying,” Bill replies, holding his hands up in surrender.

 

Well, that was true. Eddie hadn’t thought of it like that before.

 

“Don’t give up j-just yet, Ed. I’ve known Rich m-m-most of my life, and I think there could s-s-still be hope for you.”

 

“I doubt it,” Eddie replies, hugging his knees to his chest while he looks down at Bill, still sprawled across his bed. “But thanks, anyway.”

 

“Anytime,” Bill replies easily, smiling up at him. “And really, y-you should talk to us more. About s-stuff like this.”

 

“I will,” Eddie promises, a smaller version of the same smile spreading on his own face. “So, when did you know you liked boys?”

 

“I dunno, exactly. M-m-maybe at 13 or 14 for sure, maybe a little b-before then.”

 

“Does it get easier with time?”

 

“It does. And it’s b-better when you know you’re not alone.”

 

“It does,” Eddie agrees, nodding. He’s already feeling himself relaxing, just knowing that he has people in his life that not only sympathize with him and support him, but who  _understand_. They’re right there with him, navigating life as LGBT teens in a small, homophobic town. “Thanks, Bill.”

 

“And thank _you_. Y-you won me ten b-bucks from Ben. He said I sh-shouldn’t make j-judgements about sexuality just b-b-based on how short and effeminate s-someone is, but I was right after all,” Bill says, his soft smile transforming into a wicked grin.

 

This time he isn’t fast enough to block Eddie’s slap to his shoulder, and he winces in pain through his laughter.


	14. Chapter 14

After Bill leaves, Eddie rushes out and buys his last minute White Elephant gift from the grocery store: a Lego mug that lets you stack bricks on its outer surface, and an individual package of hot chocolate mix to go with it. He goes home and sits on the living room floor to meticulously wrap the items, mindful of making the shape hard to recognize from a simple look. When the wrapping paper and tape are put away a knock comes to Eddie’s door.

 

For some reason, a sick apprehension takes hold of Eddie’s chest, some premonition that tells him exactly who’s at the door. He rubs his clammy hands against his pants and drags his feet until he stands right in front of it, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around the doorknob but not quite turning it, not yet. He takes a deep, shuddering breath to will away the dread and pulls the door open, just as the person on the other side was raising their fist to knock a second time.

 

“Eddie,” Richie says in an exhale, eyes wide and hand still suspended in the middle of its aborted action. He slowly lowers his arm back down to his side.

 

Eddie stares back at Richie, seriously contemplating just hauling off and punching him in the nose. He thinks better of it, barely, but he’s sure that the anger shows on his face, because the guilt on Richie’s is almost palpable as he looks back at Eddie.

 

He takes inventory of other things about Richie, the fact that his shaggy mane of hair has been cut recently, just enough so that it’s more presentable. His brown eyes, which are usually so bright, are dull and lifeless, and the bags underneath them speak of many nights spent awake. Awake thinking about what, Eddie cannot begin to guess.

 

“This better be good, Richie,” he says, voice tight with his barely-held-in-check anger. The dread he’s feeling burrows down deeper, but it’s covered up by just how mad Eddie feels right now, and even though he hates confrontation, he also wants nothing more than a fight. He _wants_ to lash out, _wants_ Richie to know even a fraction of how badly he’s messed up, how much he’s hurt Eddie. Richie, who’s no stranger to confrontation, even against his best judgement, probably won’t shy away from the opportunity.

 

“I—” His hands come together and twist at each other, a nervous gesture Eddie often performs. “I wanna talk, okay?” Wow. He’s full of surprises, as always; not bristling at Eddie’s defensive tone, but instead sounding nothing but apologetic.

 

“Oh, so you’re ready now? Or is a week not long enough?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows. “You could always come back next month if that works better for you.”

 

“ _Eds_ —” Richie pleads, but cuts himself off. “Look, I…I needed time to think. That’s all I’ve been doing since last week. And I talked to Stan about it, so I think I finally know what I wanna say, in a way that won’t sound stupid and careless. It’s okay if you want to slam the door in my face, but can you hear me out first? Please?”

 

Eddie just stares at him for a long moment, long enough to make Richie squirm, before he turns and heads back inside the house, leaving the door open so that the other boy knows he’s allowed to follow. They find themselves back up in Eddie’s room, and normally Richie would be busy pointing out that this is now the sixth time he’s been in here, but they’ve got more important things to talk about.

 

“Talk,” Eddie says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a seat at his desk chair, as if the thin barrier of his arms will somehow protect his heart from whatever Richie is about to say.

 

Richie takes in a dramatically long breath, similar to the one Eddie had taken before he could will himself to get the door open. He doesn’t sit down anywhere, just paces back and forth across the space between Eddie’s bed and desk, a jittery mess.

 

“Okay,” he says, but it’s spoken quietly as if he’s saying it only to himself, trying to convince himself that he can, in fact, say what he needs to without messing it up. At this point this is a genuine concern for him. “Okay, here it is.” He stops for a moment and looks at Eddie with those wide, sad eyes of his. “I don’t know.”

 

Eddie’s brows draw together in confusion. All that buildup, and for what? Three words?

 

“You don’t know?” he repeats incredulously. “ _Really?_ ”

 

“ _I don’t know_ , Eds. I’ve thought about Friday night over and over since it happened. I…I don’t feel _bad_ about the kiss, but I just…I’m not sure what’s going on with me yet. I know that’s not the answer you were hoping for, but it’s the truth. I know I’m attracted to girls for sure. As a matter of fact, I’ve _only ever_ been attracted to girls before.”

 

“Before…?” Eddie prompts, and hears himself losing the hard edge in his voice. He should’ve known that he might be able to be angry at _the_ _thought_ of Richie, but he couldn’t hold a grudge against the real flesh and blood thing standing in front of him for more than a couple minutes before it fizzled out. God, he was still so whipped.

 

“Before you kissed me,” Richie clarifies, his eyes flickering away from Eddie for a moment before returning a second later. “But now…I’m confused. I didn’t _dislike_ the way I felt when you did that, but…when I thought of what other people would say, or how they’d react, I freaked out. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that, Eddie. I shouldn’t have made you think it was your fault, or that something was wrong with you, and I definitely shouldn’t have waited so long to talk to you about this. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but…but I really wish you _would_ forgive me, because you’re my best friend, and I don’t know what I’d do with you.”

 

Eddie’s heart clenched painfully in sympathy for Richie against his will. Was he tearing up? Eddie could make out a wetness to Richie’s eyes behind those bulky glasses, could hear the subtle way his voice choked up at the end of his rambling speech, could see how helpless he looked standing there in the middle of Eddie’s bedroom and not knowing any other way to make this right, but wanting so desperately to anyway.

 

“I’ve been a giant asshole, and I can’t promise that I won’t be ever be again, but I _can_ promise that I’ll never mess up _this bad_ again.” Richie fidgets while he talks, never able to stay still, even when talking about something as serious as this. His feet shuffle awkwardly. “I want you to be able to tell me anything, even when it’s about boys you like. Stan almost slugged me over what I said to you, and I would’ve let him, because it was _so wrong_. You’re my favorite person in the world, and you make me so happy, I just…”

 

“You don’t like me like I like you,” Eddie supplies, half helpful and half bitter. “It’s okay, Rich. I’m coming to terms with it.”

 

“But here’s the thing,” Richie says, unsure of himself, “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but…I’m not _ruling out_ the possibility that I _do_ like boys? It’s not something I’ve thought about before. I kinda just figured I liked girls, so that made me straight. And maybe I am, but maybe I’m not. I don’t want to lead you on or play with your feelings like that though, so I’m not gonna say I do or don’t return your feelings until I know for sure. Does that make sense? I don’t want to hurt you like that again.”

 

So, Bill had been right after all. A wave of conflicting emotions flood over Eddie in that moment: relief, sadness, hope. The hope is the hardest piece to deal with, because Eddie wants to hope _so badly_ , but he can’t allow himself to build it up again, not until there’s real, solid proof in front of his eyes that Richie feels the same. Until then, if ever a time comes, he’ll be forced to keep it tamped down.

 

“So,” Richie continues hesitantly, “I was wondering if you’d still want to be friends, because I really miss you, and no matter what might happen in the future, I want you to be there. _I_ want to be there. Is that okay?”

 

Eddie is quiet for a long moment before finally speaking. “Come here, you big idiot,” he manages to say, reaching out his arms to Richie. The taller boy practically trips over his own feet in his rush over to Eddie, crashing gracelessly into his open arms and wrapping his own around the smaller boy in return.

 

“Of course I forgive you. Like that was even a question,” Eddie scoffs into Richie’s shoulder, feeling his heart breaking all over again but also beginning to heal itself, somehow. Holding Richie in his arms, even in such an awkward position, felt like letting out a long breath that he’d been holding, like coming home after spending a long time away. “I was really scared that you hated me.”

 

Richie pulls back enough to look Eddie in the eye, his frown etched with guilt. “I could never hate you, Spaghetti. Maybe I can’t be the man of your dreams, but I _can_ be your friend until they put us in the fucking ground. And even then we’ll get plots right next to each other, okay? I’m really sorry I messed up so bad. I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“You can try,” Eddie replies wryly, cracking a smile in spite of the tears he’s barely holding back.

 

“I’ll try my damn hardest. I don’t deserve you, and never will, but I’ll try anyway” Richie says, without a hint of irony. “And who knows what the future holds for us, right?”

 

“I’ll be patient with you on your journey of self-discovery,” Eddie replies. “You know you can talk to me too, right? About how you feel?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Richie says, nodding. “We’ll both do better, talk more.”

 

“I don’t think it’s possible to talk more than we do, usually,” Eddie says, “when we’re not busy fighting over stupid misunderstandings.”

 

“Maybe we’ll cut back on the dick jokes and fill the space with more serious stuff?” Richie proposes, still paused an arm’s length away from Eddie, the beginnings of his usual teasing smile on his face.

 

“Pretty sure you’re the one making most of the dick jokes, Rich,” Eddie replies.

 

“You’re right, I’m just the cause of all our communication issues,” he laughs, and Eddie can practically see the tension leaving his shoulders. They’re both relaxing for the first time in a week, finally exhaling because they’re okay now. They have each other, whatever that means in the future.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Saturday night and Eddie is at Bev’s front door with Richie standing next to him. Things have been much better since their talk on yesterday, but things are also perhaps just a bit awkward still in the adjustment period of their relationship. Bev answers the door, wearing a flattering red dress with white stockings and no shoes. She’s holding a plastic cup full of some mysterious liquid, and grins big when she sees them together, her hazel eyes glinting like Christmas lights.

 

“Hey boys, glad you could make it,” she says cheerily, stepping aside with a flourish. “My aunt is out of town for the weekend, so I busted out the non-virgin eggnog. I should probably back off now, though. It’s occurring to me that the two of you are a little blurry.”

 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Richie replies easily, taking a step inside and confiscating the cup from Bev’s hand as he passes her. Eddie follows a step behind, but Bev stops him before he can join the others in the living room.

 

“Is everything okay?” she whisper-yells, because even though she’s tipsy she still wants to be confidential. Richie is no longer even within ear-shot, but Eddie appreciates the gesture nonetheless. “Or should I still be mad at Richie?”

 

“Everything is okay,” Eddie replies quietly with a not-so-certain smile. He _hopes_ they are, at least. “We’re friends again.”

 

“ _Just_ friends?” Bev asks grimly, to clarify.

 

“Yeah, but that’s okay. I’m mostly just relieved that we’ve talked this out and I don’t have to dread seeing him now.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Bev agrees, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulder as she leads them towards the living room now. “And besides, between you and me, you can do so much better than him.” Eddie stifles a snicker before the others can catch it and ask what's so funny.

 

The non-religion-specific Holiday Party marked the first time in a week that all the Losers had been together, and they had all felt the absence of one another. Instead of any awkward silences or uncomfortable shifting, though, everyone was talking to fill up the space, make up for lost time. A weight had been lifted, the tension between Richie and Eddie was broken, and now they could crack jokes openly, drink bad eggnog, and blare old Christmas songs on Bev’s aunt’s record player while dancing terribly.

 

The White Elephant exchange went about as well as it possibly could’ve. Ben ended up with Eddie’s Lego mug, which was one of the more sought after gifts of the bunch, a fact that the young architect was very smug about. Eddie received a pair of novelty ankle socks from Mike, Mike got a pack of coloring books and scented markers from Bill, Bill got three identical copies of the same bargain bin Nicholas Cage movie from Richie, Richie got a pair of [chameleon goggles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0j2Jyym7Y8) from Ben, Stan got a horrendously ugly scarf from Bev, and Bev got a “Birds of Maine” field guide from Stan.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I feel like a winner tonight,” Richie says, the ridiculous green goggles having replaced his usual glasses as he feels his way around the living room, blind as a bat on a good day and now with his limited vision even more distorted.

 

“I _don’t_ ,” Bill mutters, leaning over to take the blueberry scented marker out of its plastic sleeve to help Mike color in a scene from Frozen as they sit together on the floor. “Thanks a lot, Rich.”

 

“I dunno,” Bev shrugs, flipping through the glossy pages of the field guide from her spot on the couch beside Eddie, “this isn’t something I’d ever get for myself, but it’s interesting.”

 

“Broaden your horizons,” Stan says, watching with vague amusement as he waits for Richie to finally crash into something. “And then come birding with me in the spring. I could use a partner who isn’t loud and impatient.”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Ben offers, holding a half-drunken cup of eggnog to his chest. “I’ve always been kind of interested in nature-y stuff like that. I should get out there more often.”

 

“By all means,” Stan says agreeably, at the same time Richie says, “Don’t go with him, Bennie, it’s a trap.”

 

“How is it a trap?” Stan asks indignantly.

 

“Birding is one of those things that _sounds_ cool and interesting, but really it’s sitting out in the sun for hours and getting told to shut up if you even _breathe_ too loudly--should I go on? Shall I mention all the poison ivy and ticks? How your only reward for all that waiting is catching a blurry binocular view of some—oh! Oh my fucking god! Is that the great fucking blue-chested tit egret?!”

 

“Oh _fuck off_ ,” Stan says. “First of all, a tit and an egret are two different kinds of bird, you idiot, and secondly—ha!”

 

Everyone suddenly looks up as Richie dramatically collides shin-first with the coffee table and collapses dramatically onto the floor beside it with a loud curse, and they all burst into raucous laughter. Richie himself almost immediately joins in as well, pulling the goggles up on his forehead to grin over at Stan. Eddie leans into Bev’s side as he laughs, feeling the pleasant warmth of alcohol in his chest, breathing in the smell of her perfume, and realizing that the world isn’t ending after all. Everyone is still here, in this moment, making idiots of themselves, play-fighting, and smelling children’s markers while they debate why a bird would be called a tit in the first place.

 

Even if he doesn’t ever end up with Richie, Eddie thinks he would still be the happiest kid on earth, so long as he can have perfect nights like these, with all the people he loves most.

 

* * *

 

 

Richie drives them home, ever mindful of Eddie’s strict curfew. The heater has finally been fixed, which both boys are extremely grateful for; the Maine winter is brutal enough even without the threat of freezing you to death in your own car. With the radio humming lowly in the background and Richie’s fingers tapping along to the rhythm, it feels just like it always has, like no time has passed between them at all.

 

“You okay?” Richie asks, turning onto their street with the usual casual pull of the wheel. He’s smiling at nothing in particular when he asks this because he knows that Eddie is, in fact, okay tonight. It’s just that he gets stuck in his head sometimes.

 

“Yeah,” Eddie replies, suppressing a yawn. “Better than I’ve felt all week. I might actually sleep through the night.”

 

“Me too,” Richie says, yawning because Eddie had just yawned, and yawning was contagious for some reason. “After I put some horrible Christmas songs on the playlist.”

 

Eddie groans loudly and pretends that he’s not excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie's playlist:   
> https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/1SlBPQVVklfC6iw4xpYW1Y?si=Pa9W0Q6vRaCQ6aoVrg5EhA
> 
> Eddie's playlist:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/6joyoJFBeQjMvcA2mLmy6u?si=oFgd1XRJQrGzXJTiJFft-w


	15. Chapter 15

Winter Break ends too soon. The Losers filled their remaining days with board games and Netflix. They binge-watch shows and movies based purely on how bad they are, and take turns cracking equally bad jokes until they laugh loudly enough to annoy Bill’s parents. Some of their nights are spent with secret joy rides in Bill’s mom’s van to Derry’s outskirts and back, bundled up in their thickest coats and comforters pulled off their beds. Even with the heater cranked up as high as it’ll go, they find their teeth chattering and fingertips aching by the time they’re back home.

 

No matter how many hours they fill with each other’s company, it never seems to be enough. Everyone is reluctant to lose the time they get to spend together as the last week finally draws to a close.

 

School is the same as always: boring lessons, note-taking, and second lunch shift spent crammed into a table together. After an agonizing two-hour debate on Christmas morning, Eddie got a tentative “maybe” from his mom, a far more positive initial response than he was expecting. There’s even reason to believe she’ll eventually say yes, with continued badgering and excellent behavior and grades between now and March.

 

With a renewed hope about the trip becoming a reality for all seven of them, the Losers find themselves in good moods more often than not. After the rocky beginning of Winter Break there’s a feeling of ease between all of them, a shared exhale from a long breath they’d been holding. It always felt like Eddie could relax around the Losers before, but now he could be completely himself, and the others could be more open, too. He’d need to keep reminding himself for the future that honesty is almost always the best option.

 

Things were looking up overall, except for one minor hitch: Eddie keeps liking Richie now that they’re on good terms again.

 

He figured it was too much to ask for months of built-up attraction to just go away as soon as the possibility of having a relationship disappears--you can’t just flip a switch in your brain to turn that off--but maybe now that they’ve decided to stay as friends he can allow his feelings to slowly ebb away and move on with his life, maybe meet a nice boy who actually reciprocates.

 

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, their friendship improves now that the truth is out in the open. Richie still play-flirts and sends way too many winky faces over text, but he seems to be more mindful of his affection now; he’s careful not to somehow make Eddie feel uncomfortable. It’s a bizarre thing to see Richie Tozier of all people be so self-aware, but it’s also heartening to see how much he cares about their friendship. That’s what’s most important to Eddie, too; more so than a hypothetical romance.

 

They talk more about serious stuff now, but Eddie doesn’t ask Richie how he’s doing with the whole “liking boys” thing. He knows he promised that he would, and that Richie could come to him about it as well, but he can’t ever bring himself to ask, and at any rate Richie either doesn’t want to bring it up or has no news worth sharing. It’s understandable, Eddie reasons, that so soon after being rejected he wouldn’t want constant updates of “nope, still don’t find you attractive. Maybe next week though?” It would just be a long and drawn out production, and Eddie would prefer a silent and dignified disappointment to being heartbroken inch by inch over months before Richie finally, inevitably, admits that he’s straight after all.

 

Eddie gives himself credit for handling this entire situation as well as he currently is, and promises himself that it’ll be okay. Eventually. Just give it more time. Wait it out. Someday your best friend’s dimples won’t drive you insane. His curly hair won’t make you want to run your fingers through it. You’ll survive.

 

Presently, the Losers were regaling each other with tales of their stupidest accidents over the years. Ben recounts in painful detail the time that he tripped outside the library and smashed clean into the flagpole face-first, an injury that knocked two baby teeth loose. Bill told of far too many different bike crashes to name, because the frame was built with an adult in mind, and not a scrawny seven year old kid. He’d been lucky not to have wiped out in the middle of a hectic intersection. Bev had a story about the time she was learning to roller-skate and subsequently stumbled over an abandoned scooter, which earned her a nasty scrape that spanned the surface of her entire kneecap. Mike once got kicked in the leg by a goat, Stan had unknowingly knocked into a beehive during a hike and was stung nearly a dozen times, and Eddie once broke his arm from falling out of a tree he’d been climbing.

 

Richie, unsurprisingly, was the one of them who had the most colorful and abundant supply of stories. He grinned big and opened his arms as if pulling the vault doors open to look inside when it was his turn to share. Between his lack of self-preservation, clumsiness, adventurousness, and big mouth, there was a lot to choose from.

 

“There was the time broke my collarbone when I wiped out in a go kart,” he says. “Passed out cold from the pain. You remember that one, Stan?”

 

“Yeah,” Stan says, eyeing Richie with a mixture of annoyance and a twinge of sympathy. “We were 12. I had to get someone to call an ambulance while I stayed on the track with you.”

 

“Then there was the time I crashed my bike off the big hill at the park. Or the time I back-flipped off a trampoline and into a lawn chair. Or when I threw a basketball and it bounced back directly into my face—ooh! Or that one time I almost set myself on fire at a pizza restaurant!”

 

“Y-you _did_ set yourself on fire, Rich,” Bill laughs. “Your sh-shirt, at least. I poured my drink out on you.”

 

“It’s a miracle you’re still alive,” Eddie remarks, almost in awe of Richie’s ability to ultimately come out of incredibly stupid situations unscathed.

 

“My name is Richie Tozier, and welcome to Jackass,” he replies, grinning proudly. “They do make interesting stories though, don’t they? Conversation-starters.”

 

“At this rate, you might not be having conversations for much longer,” Bev jokes. “You’ll only be able to blink once for yes and twice for no. We’ll still visit you at the hospital, though.”

 

“They say God looks out for children and idiots,” Mike says, shrugging. “Richie’s guardian angel is definitely working over-time.”

 

“Richie’s guardian angel is probably an alcoholic,” Eddie adds.

 

“Damn, you guys don’t hold back one inch, do you?” Richie says, wincing for dramatic effect. “If I wanted to be roasted this hard today I would’ve just stuck my head in the oven this morning.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Eddie says. “Then who would drive me to school?”

 

“Oh, so that’s what I am to you?” Richie asks, turning to Eddie with his eyebrows raised. “Just a chauffeur?”

 

“Obviously,” Eddie replies, reveling in the dramatic look of betrayal on Richie’s face. “What else would you be?”

 

“Et tu, Brute?” Richie says, unable to keep up the serious façade. He broke into giggles moments later and leaned the full weight of his side into Eddie until he was pushed away.

 

Bev starts to say something when a loud _bang_ echoes through the cafeteria. The entire room falls silent as the students all turn their attention to the source of the sound. Standing in the middle of the room are a small boy who Eddie vaguely recognizes as a freshman, and none other than Henry Bowers. Eddie’s gut clenches in sympathy. Everyone around them seems to hold their breaths and wait for the rest of this interaction to play out, no one willing to speak up or intervene for fear that they’ll become the new target of Henry’s rampage.

 

The freshman boy, who might even be scrawnier than Eddie, is looking down in paralyzed horror at his trey of food, which was smacked out of his hands and had exploded all over the floor at his feet. Henry was standing over the boy, towering over him, and his malicious expression said that he wasn’t planning on stopping at just ruining the kid’s lunch.

 

“I already told you once,” he snarls, “that if you didn’t stay the fuck outta my way, I was gonna make you sorry. You remember that?”

 

The boy stammers something very quietly, and Henry leans in closer. “What was that?”

 

“I remember…” the kid says, audibly this time. “I’m sorry, Henry. It won’t happen again.”

 

“You’re damn right it won’t.” Henry shoves the boy down, hard. The force of the blow is enough to make him tumble backwards and slide across the floor on his back. The wind is knocked out of him from the impact. Before Henry can advance on the kid, someone runs up and stands in the space between the two of them. Eddie hopes for a minute that it’s a teacher or even an assistant principal, but it’s not. It’s Richie.

 

“Back off, Bowers,” he says in a warning tone, everything about his body language screaming “angry” and “fight”. Eddie had been so wrapped up in watching the fight unfold between Henry and the kid that he hadn’t even noticed Richie getting up from his place beside him. He’s kicking himself for it now.

 

 _You absolute fucking moron_ , g _et back here right now before he feeds you your glasses._

 

Eddie feels bad for the kid, of course, but the kid isn’t his best friend, and would probably have made it out of this fight with a black eye, maybe a bloody nose. Richie’s interference, plus his mouth, would earn him something worse.

 

“Oh,” Henry says, grinning like the most wonderful gift had just been delivered right at his feet. “You just signed a death warrant, Tozier. If you think any of the other beatings were bad, you’ll be begging me to be as gentle this time around.” The smile falls away, leaving just the dark, hollow look in his glass-colored eyes.

 

“Eh, you’re not really my type. And anyway, I’m not into bedroom games, especially when we don’t even have safe word,” Richie replies breezily, still using himself as a physical barrier between Henry and the freshman. The words are joking, but his face is cold anger. “Why can’t you just fuck off to a therapist like all the other damaged kids? We shouldn’t have to be your fucking punching bags, it’s ridiculous. None of us are the reason your dad hits you.”

 

Eddie doesn’t have to look at the other Losers to know that they’ve all just winced in unison.

 

Before Henry can take a run at Richie and tear him limb from limb, a shrill whistle cuts through the room, momentarily freezing time right at that critical moment. One of the coaches and two assistant principals burst into the cafeteria and rush over to physically hold Henry back before he can regain his composure and resume his attack. His eyes are wild while he strains against the arms around him, teeth bared at Richie as he’s dragged out of the room. Richie watches him go, then turns around and helps the freshman to his feet.

 

“You alright?” he asks, and receives a shaky nod in reply.

 

“Mr. Tozier, Mr. Nelson, please follow me to my office,” the remaining assistant principal says, turning and walking back out of the cafeteria without waiting for the two boys to follow. Richie glances over to the Losers before shrugging at them and walking out with the younger kid just a step behind him.

 

After a couple moments, the room bursts back into conversations, everyone discussing the interaction they’d just witnessed, taking bets on how much longer Richie had before Bowers killed him. It was impossible to know whether or not that was an overstatement or exactly what he meant to do.

 

“Well,” Stan says, looking tired as he grabs Richie’s abandoned backpack and sets it on the floor beside his. “who wants to be the pallbearers?”

 

“Fuck,” Bev mutters, shaking her head. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“No,” Bill replies. “H-he should’ve, and we should’ve stood up with him. Now he’s a s-single target, and Bowers is going to p-pummel him for it.” He was right, of course. Richie was just doing the right thing, albeit in the stupidest way possible.

 

They sit quietly after that, ruminating in their shared guilt. The whole point of the Losers Club was that none of them would have to be alone, but now Richie’s rash decision could very well land him in the hospital.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day drags on, but all Eddie can think about is Richie’s uncertain fate.

 

Will Henry immediately exact his revenge, or will he bide his time? Will Richie be okay when the last bell of the day rings, or will Eddie be greeted by a bloody mess? These questions are vocalized by all his classmates, whose gossip informs Eddie that there will be a fight in the school parking lot, right after class ends for the day. His chest feels tight and cold at this news, because Henry has at least 15 pounds on Richie in muscle alone, not to mention the disposition of a rabid German shepherd.

 

When four o’clock finally rolls around, Eddie is both anxious and reluctant to get out to the parking lot and survey the damage. All the other students push at each other in their rush out the doors. Just like sharks that’ve smelled blood in the water, all of them want to get a look at Richie Tozier taking a beating. Somewhere in the shuffle, Eddie finds Mike and Stan. The three of them move to the side of the hallway while the crowd continues churning past them.

 

“Are they out there?” Eddie asks.

 

“We haven’t been out yet, but with this crowd it’s hard to see much of anything,” Mike says with a frown.

 

“Ben is talking to the administrators right now to tell them about the fight,” Stan explains. “Bev and Bill left class early to be out there with Richie in case no one comes to help in time. Apparently he wants to face Bowers and get this over with, so we’re just trying to minimize the damage.”

 

“Shit,” Eddie mutters. “Let’s get out there, too. The more of us on his side, the better the odds that he doesn’t eat his teeth.”

 

Led by Mike, they form a small train as they make their way through the crowd of kids, holding onto each other’s backpacks to stay together. Finally, they break out into the student parking lot, where an even bigger crowd has already formed. People are shouting and laughing and _ooo-_ ing, but it’s impossible to know what’s happening in the center of the ring they’ve formed with their tightly-packed bodies. When pushing through gets them nowhere, Eddie grits his teeth and ducks down, using his size to his advantage as he slips past people and further into the chaos, leaving Stan and Mike on the outside. He needs to know that his friends aren’t getting hurt, or at least not beyond repair.

 

The sight that greets him is not what he’d expected.

 

Standing in the ring at the middle of the crowd were Henry and Richie, but in spite of the obvious bruises on Richie’s face, and the busted lens of his glasses, it was obvious that Henry was the one losing this fight. The kids standing around them with their phones out were laughing and jeering at Henry, whose eyes have a deadly quality to them. He wipes at his bloody nose with the sleeve of his shirt before lunging at Richie.

 

Richie has a longer reach than Henry, and is faster by virtue of having less bulk, so he dodges out of the way in time to miss the swings aimed at his face. It’s reminiscent of a matador waving a red flag at a bull and stepping quickly aside. Eddie is amazed, just like all the other kids around him probably are. Apparently, no one had thought of the possibility that Richie might have an upper hand. He sweeps out a leg and Henry stumbles to the ground from his own forward momentum. The kids all erupt in a new burst of laughter and cheers.

 

Eddie suddenly understands what’s going on. Richie is a performer doing what he does best. The audience is eating up all the smart remarks he’s making, the way he’s ridiculing and embarrassing Henry instead of outright exchanging blows. He’d never win a fight in the traditional sense, but by reducing Henry to a joke and allowing his rage to blind him, he was winning. Henry was too caught up in what people thought about him to realize that he was being played, and making all kinds of stupid mistakes as a result. Eddie caught Bill and Bev’s eyes from the other side of the inner ring, and saw that they were simply keeping people back, waiting to see if they needed to interfere.

 

“What’s wrong, Bowers? I thought you were going to make me beg?” Richie taunts, his eyes glinting. He’s playing with fire, everyone knows it. “So far you’ve just been making out with the concrete!”

 

“I’m gonna kill you, Tozier!” Henry screams, jumping up to his feet.

 

“That’s the spirit!” Richie replies with a vicious grin. Henry lunges again, and when Richie jumps out of the way he just barely misses the fist coming at his gut. He’s getting tired out just as much as Henry is with all this running around, and the longer this fight drags out, the greater the chance that one of those punches will finally land.

 

“Whoa—” Richie exclaims, letting out a breathy laugh. “That was a close one! Come on, I think you’ve almost got it, buddy!” He quickly turns and grabs the lid off an old metal garbage can nearby and holds it up like a shield just in time to catch one of Henry’s fists dead center.

 

It’s like something right out of a cartoon. The garbage can lid rings with the impact and Henry howls in pain as he pulls the injured hand close to his chest. He backs away, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before they open again. He looks like a wild animal then, all desperation and killer instinct. It’s utterly terrifying. The crowd takes a noticeable step back.

 

“Come on!” Richie shouts, his dark eyes blazing. The smile is suddenly gone. “Come on, motherfucker! Hit me again! Can you?!”

 

That’s the precise minute that Ben arrives, accompanied by the principal and the school police officers. Henry doesn’t stop this time, though. He’s well past the point of worrying about consequences, he just wants to make Richie’s face a bloody pulp, to win back the fear of the entire student body.

 

Richie, who’d paused for a precious few moments at the adults’ arrival, didn’t have enough time to get away from the final attack aimed at him. Right before Henry could make contact, though, Beverly stuck out her foot and kicked him in the side of his leg, sending him sprawling to the middle of the ring. She quickly stands up straight and puts up an innocent expression, hoping no one had noticed her interference.

 

Without the immediate threat to worry about, the rest of the situation resolves in the officers taking Henry away while the principal gets the crowd to disperse. “You and you,” he says, pointing at Bill and Beverly respectively. “Come with me. Mr. Hanscom, please take Tozier to the nurse’s office, and then I want the both of you to come to my office as well. Everyone else needs to head home immediately.”

 

Richie tosses the garbage can lid down with a sigh of relief, then looks over and catches Eddie’s eye. “Eds,” he says, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth, “mind driving my car home? I have a feeling I’ll be catching a ride with my parents. Stan has my keys.”

 

“Yeah, sure, Rich,” Eddie says, still amazed that this whole situation didn’t turn out so much worse. “Are you okay?”

 

“Kaspbrak, head home,” the principal says dismissively. “You can talk to your friend later.”

 

“I’ll be alright,” Richie says as Ben leads him away. “See you later, Spaghetti.”

 

Eddie watches Richie head back into the building while Stan and Mike come to stand to either side of him.

 

“Didn’t see that coming,” Mike admits quietly. He looks impressed.

 

“Should’ve known the weasel would figure a way out of this,” Stan says with too much fondness for it to be an insult. “At least now Bowers will probably get sent to juvie. That’s something.” He shrugs Richie’s bag off his shoulder and hands it over to Eddie. “Here. His keys are in the front pouch. I wouldn’t look through the rest of it unless you like crushed up bags of chips and all sorts of other garbage.”

 

“Thanks, but I don’t need to see a portable version of his room,” Eddie replies flatly, unzipping the front compartment of the bag to retrieve the bulky keyring. A keychain of Bugs Bunny dangles off of it, along with the three actual keys. “Do either of you need a ride?”

 

“Nah,” Mike replies with a smile. “We were gonna walk down to the library to study before my grandpa comes to pick us up. Ben was supposed to tag along, but I guess not anymore. You can just head home.”

 

“Yeah, it’s probably not in your best interest to be driving around town without a license,” Stan adds. “Even if you’re a good driver.”

 

“That’s true,” Eddie agrees. He closes his fingers around the keys and says goodbye to Mike and Stan before heading across the lot to Richie’s lone car.

 

He’s driven a couple times since that first time in December, and it’s not as scary as it once was. He’s never driven alone, though. The drive is nerve-wracking, but instead of the usual doubt, Eddie hears Richie’s encouraging voice in his head, telling him what turns to take and reminding him to check over his shoulder before changing lanes. Finally, he ends up parked outside Richie’s house.

 

 **Eddie:** _Got your car home safe. Text me when you’re home and I’ll come over to give you the keys._

 

He heads home and waits around for almost an hour, trying and failing to focus on his homework. Finally, after a short eternity, his phone chimes with a new text.

 

 **Richie:** _Home! :) Parents are very unhappy, but say it’s okay if you stop by for a minute_

 

Eddie jumps up from his desk chair at this, stuffs his phone into his pocket, and grabs Richie’s keys before heading downstairs and out the door. He’s across the street and at Richie’s front door a minute later.

 

“Why hello,” Richie says as soon as he gets the door open. “Do you think the black eye makes me look tough? I can’t decide.” He’s wearing a different glasses than his usual pair, presumably his spares.

 

“It makes you look like you almost got your ass kicked,” Eddie replies, handing over the keys. Richie pockets them without comment and steps aside for Eddie to come inside.

 

“I can’t stay long,” Eddie says as he follows Richie upstairs. “My mom will be home from work in, like, 20 minutes maybe.”

 

“That’s plenty of time,” Richie says, opening up the bathroom door and stepping inside. “When we went to the nurse’s office, she was already gone for the day, so all I could do was put ice on my eye while I talked to the principal. Think you can help patch me up?”

 

Eddie smiles in spite of himself, in spite of this situation. His whole life had led up to this moment. “I’m offended that you even have to ask,” he scoffs, gesturing for Richie to sit on the edge of the bathtub while he starts rifling through the drawers. Eventually, he finds a small first aid kit and sets it out on the counter.

 

Richie takes off his glasses and tilts his face up for Eddie to inspect. There isn’t anything too bad, a few cuts on his cheeks and one larger one above his eyebrow. His lip is split at one corner where he’d probably caught a pretty bad punch, and his left eye is already turning an ugly, mottled purple, but there isn’t really something to do for it other than using an ice pack to reduce the swelling.

 

Eddie washes his hands before anything else, then focuses on the cuts, first wiping at them with water, then with soap and water. Richie winces a little, but mostly manages to stay still while Eddie works. Eventually, everything was properly cleaned and the bigger cut had a Band-Aid placed over it with some Neosporin. “Alright, I think you’ll live,” he says wryly, pulling away from Richie to start putting away the bandage wrappers and return the first aid kit to where he’d found it. Richie puts his glasses back on and waits in silence for him to finish.

 

“Sorry for being stupid,” he says sheepishly. “Or, I’m not sorry for defending that kid, but I am sorry that I made you guys worry about me.”

 

“You’re lucky you didn’t end up with a dislocated jaw or broken ribs, with how angry he was,” Eddie says with a frown, “but I think you did the right thing. No one else was gonna help him.” It was a sad fact of life that people tended to only help the people they saw themselves in. A skinny little outcast was on his own more often than not. “How many times have you fought Henry Bowers?”

 

“Too many,” Richie says with a smile that’s more of a grimace. “I’ve been picking fights with him since I was in elementary school. He tends to target the people I like.”

 

“And it's better that he hit you than hit them,” Eddie finishes for him, realizing the full breadth of Richie’s recklessness. It wasn’t just a stupid stunt, it was a calculated move; the only way Richie could protect someone was to become a more desirable target by any means necessary.

 

“Exactly,” he says, shrugging. “If he hits me, no big deal. It's not like I’ve ever been known for my good looks anyway. But if he attacked you, or any of the others, that’s another story."

 

“It is a big deal, though,” Eddie replies, not meaning to sound as irritated as he does, but God Richie is stupid sometimes. “I happen to like your face the way it is, not the way Henry Bowers or anyone else wants to rearrange it.”

 

"Thanks," Richie says, and it might be a trick of the light but he looks like he might actually be blushing. 

 

"Why did you protect that kid?" Eddie asks. "Did you know him?"

 

"Nope," Richie replies, shrugging again, "but I saw him and thought of you, I guess. And then before i knew it, I was standing between him and Bowers."

 

"Even _I'm_ not that puny," Eddie argues, purposely ignoring the fact that Richie just admitted that he undoubtedly would've done the exact same if it'd been him.

 

"And you probably wouldn't have just taken his shit like that, either. You would've fought back," Richie replies, a genuine smile spreading on his face now. "Your mouth is bigger than mine sometimes, you know."

 

"You bring out the worst in me," Eddie replies with a smile of his own. 

 

Richie is quiet for a moment as he looks up at Eddie from his spot on the edge of the bathtub. He has that particular look in his eye that he sometimes does, the one he gets only when he's looking at Eddie. “Thanks for putting up with my antics, and for fixing me up.”

 

“If putting up with you was all I did, you’d have been alone a long time again, Tozier,” Eddie says. “I’m here because I like you.” _I like you so much, it’s ridiculous,_ Eddie thinks _. I think I might even like you more now than I did in December._


	16. Chapter 16

Henry Bowers gets sent to a juvenile detention center in a neighboring town after the fight, personally delivered there by his father, who was undoubtedly very, _very_ unhappy to get the phone-call concerning his son’s latest assault. Everyone at school is in a state of disbelief: the adults actually did something about Derry High’s menace. Apparently, two altercations in one day had finally tipped the scales in his disfavor, the administrators couldn’t just keep turning a blind eye to a student whose violent behavior was only getting worse as time went on, something had to be done. Normal means of punishment like detention and suspension only spurred Henry on, so he needed a more structured and permanent environment if he was to correct his behavior. No one really believed that juvie would change him, but a full semester vacation from him would be really nice regardless. Richie, meanwhile, becomes something of a folk hero among their classmates, spending the next couple days after the fight catching high fives in the hallway from kids he doesn’t know. Stan complains that it’ll only make his ego even bigger than it already is.

 

With Henry gone, a weight seems to lift from the entire school. Even the teachers seem more cheerful than usual, the assistant principals’ frown lines aren’t so prominent when they pass in the hallway. All the kids who Henry used to torture don’t have to keep looking over their shoulder for the next attack, including the Losers. Belch Huggins and Victor Criss, Henry’s two henchmen, seem directionless without their ringleader to rally them, so they stick to copying off other people’s work during class or skipping to go smoke behind the school.

 

“Hey, Eds,” Richie says as they walk out to his car. It’s been over a week now, so the cuts on his face have mostly healed, and the bruises are faded to muted yellows. He’s got one arm slung around Eddie’s neck while they walk, which makes them sort of zigzag in their path through the parking lot. “Let’s go to a movie on Friday.”

 

“What movie are they showing?” Eddie asks, trying to keep them steady despite being very unbalanced. Movie, singular. The Aladdin only showed one at any given time, and sometimes it was something new, but usually it was an old-school movie, and usually it wasn’t a very good one.

 

“Not sure, but even if it’s bad we can just sit in the back and make fun of it,” Richie replies. “Besides, Bill’s been working there a couple weeks now and we haven’t gone to harass him yet.”

 

“You do realize that the money he’s making is going towards the car we need to take the spring break trip, right?” Eddie asks.

 

“He’s always complaining about how bored he is at work. We’ll be spicing up his night,” Richie replies matter-of-factly. “It’s not like we’re going to sabotage him or anything.”

 

“Fine, I’ll let my mom know.”

 

“We’ll have you home by 11, of course.”

 

On Friday, the Aladdin is showing Peter Rabbit. Richie says he thinks it’ll be worthwhile one way or another while he’s buying their tickets, but Eddie has his reservations.

 

“It’s a kid’s movie, Rich,” he says as they make their way across the lobby. The brightly-patterned carpet feels both stiff and sticky underfoot, which he’s consciously trying to ignore. “How good can it be?”

 

“Hey,” Richie argues, looking just a little offended. “Some of the best movies ever made were intended for kids. You can’t judge it based solely on the target audience.”

 

“Somehow, I doubt this one will go down in the history books,” Eddie replies.

 

“Oh, come on. It’s a classic tale brought to life by General Hux and Rey from Star Wars. Who wouldn’t like that?”

 

They pass dark red walls covered in months-old promotional posters for movies that have already gone to DVD, the dimly-lit entrance to the arcade, an out of order photo booth, the bathrooms, and finally arrive at the concessions stand. Eddie feels his stomach roll at the overwhelming scent of popcorn butter.

 

“I just think we’re going to sit through it with a bunch of little kids and not laugh very much, that’s all,” Eddie says with a shrug. He isn’t particularly disappointed about that, though, because any time spent with Richie tends to be fun, one way or another. “Even you can’t make that many jokes off a movie about bunny rabbits.” They stand side-by-side in the short line, watching a familiar head of auburn hair move around the counter. Eventually, the customers dwindle down, and they’re next to order.

 

Bill eyes them both warily from his place on the other side of the counter while he finishes ringing up the customer in front of them. He’s wearing a red polo shirt with the theater’s logo on one side of the collar, his nametag pinned to the other.

 

“I s-s-swear to god, Richie,” he says as soon as he comes over to the popcorn station where they’re standing, “I’m not in the mood for any of your sh-shit tonight. Some kid threw up in theater three. Twice.”

 

“Hey, no shit from me,” Richie says with faux innocence, holding up his hands as if to show that he isn’t even holding anything to mess with Bill with. “We just want candy and soda, thanks.”

 

Bill sighs and grabs three different boxes from the candy display case. Apparently, he’s got an occult knowledge of which ones Richie likes. Eddie figures that knowing someone for so long will give you all kinds of bizarre trivia, like what kind of candy they like. That, and Bill is just an extremely observant person.

 

“Dr. Pepper or Mountain Dew?” he asks Richie, looking tired. He’s been working shifts right after school lets out almost every day since he started at the Aladdin, trying to make as much money as possible between now and March.

 

“How about a Dr. Pepper, but you also hook me up with the cherry syrup from the slushie machine?” Richie says with a grin, leaning his elbows on the counter. “And don’t say you can’t, because I’ve worked here and I did it all the time. I know all the secret tricks.”

 

Bill rolls his eyes and makes the drink as Richie requests, then turns to Eddie. “What do you want, Eddie?” he asks, his tone noticeably nicer than it had been with Richie.

 

Eddie snorts in amusement while Richie pouts. “Just a plain coke, thanks.”

 

They both dig cash out of their wallets and hand it over to Bill, then linger at the counter after he’s rung them up.

 

“When do you get off, Bill?” Richie asks.

 

Bill pours up Eddie’s drink and checks his watch. “Ten.”

 

“Want us to wait for you? I’ll give you a ride home, or you could crash at my place.”

 

Bill smiles then. He’s just as susceptible to Richie as everyone else, even when trying his hardest not to be. “Yeah, sure.”

 

“We’ll probably be hanging in the arcade, then,” Richie says, obviously pleased that he’s probably getting a sleepover out of it.

 

“I’ll be kicking his ass at Pac-Man again,” Eddie adds.

 

“Oh, we’ll see about that, Kaspbrak,” Richie replies. He’s the most competitive person Eddie’s ever met, sometimes it’s fun to say things just to rile him up.

 

“Last names?” Eddie asks, both eyebrows raised. “You must mean business this time. It’s gonna make it even more embarrassing when I still win.”

 

Bill’s smile turns to more of a smirk as he passes Eddie’s soda to him. “You’re going to be late for the m-movie if you keep going back and forth like this,” he says. “Go flirt in the theater. I have to clean the hotdog machine.”

 

Richie just laughs and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly at Bill before pushing Eddie along towards the entrance to the auditoriums. Eddie expected the joke to hurt a little, but for some reason it doesn’t.  Richie’s reaction is the difference, he realizes.

 

The theater is, predictably, filled with little kids and their less enthusiastic parents. Eddie and Richie sit in the very back by themselves. The movie itself is much more captivating than Eddie had initially assumed; instead of the running commentary he expected to be making with Richie the entire time, the two of them just pass their candy back and forth while they watch. Sometimes, Richie will lean over and whisper something when he just can’t help himself. His breath smells like cherry syrup. Eddie pretends to get annoyed at the interruptions and nudges him with his shoulder or throws a Sour Patch Kid at him. Richie grins and eats whatever lands on him.

 

An hour and a half later, they stumble out of the darkened auditorium and head for the arcade. Just like always, half of the machines are out of order, and there aren’t any other people inside. Eddie leads them to the back, where Pac-Man is located. They have a half hour to kill before Bill gets off his shift, plenty of time for them to see who can score higher. Richie grimaces when he sees that Eddie’s name is still at the top of the scoreboard when the game powers on.

 

“You don’t have to be good at everything, you know,” he huffs, the screen reflecting brightly off his glasses. He’s still wearing the spares, which are a bit less chunky overall, and have dark blue frames instead of black. “It’s obnoxious, really. Let me be the king of video games, if nothing else.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the nearby Donkey Kong machine. “I’m not good at _everything_. And it’s not my fault that you're bad at Pac-Man.”

 

“Oh, come on, Eds. You’re creative, an amazing writer, good with directions, can fix bikes and cars and probably all sorts of other stuff, get good grades in school, and you can even perform basic medical procedures. You’re like a goddamn X-man.”

 

“I should have you write my college résumé, Rich,” Eddie laughs. “I think you’re just easily impressed.”

 

“No, I mean it—ah, fuck.” The familiar sound of “Game Over” plays as Richie gets cornered by a ghost, taking him down to just two lives left. “You’re pretty perfect, Eds.”

 

“You’re never gonna stop calling me that, are you?”

 

“Why would I stop?”

 

Eddie just sighs deeply. To be honest, he’s already resigned himself to the insufferable nicknames a long time ago, and to be even more honest, he likes them too much to ever want Richie to actually stop. “Anyone looks perfect compared to you, Richie. You eat and live like a slob, you’re lazy with your schoolwork…” Eddie glances at the screen, “and you always go after the cherries when you should probably just stick to the dots. That’s how the ghosts get you, you know.”

 

“High risk, high reward,” Richie replies simply. “And I’m ignoring all the mean shit you just said, by the way.”

 

“That’s why you’ll never improve as a person,” Eddie says, shrugging and leaning back against Donkey Kong.

 

“I was wrong,” Richie grits out, teeth clenched as he narrowly escapes two ghosts closing in on him. “You aren’t perfect, you’re too fucking rude to be.”

 

“I’m just being honest,” Eddie replies. When Richie just pouts quietly for a few minutes without saying anything, he presses on. “And just because you have flaws doesn’t mean you don’t have your strengths, too. You’re really creative and funny, and your impressions might even be good one day if you keep practicing. You can also make music, which is super fucking cool, and you’re smart, even if you don’t apply yourself at all in school.”

 

“That’s funny,” Richie murmurs, like he’s saying it only to himself, “I thought Bill told us to flirt in the theater, not the arcade.”

 

Eddie’s heart flutters, but he ignores it. “We can flirt wherever we want, apparently,” he says, hoping his tone sounds joking instead of nervous.

 

“Shit!” Richie curses as the “Game Over” sound plays again just a moment later. “Quit distracting me with your words.”

 

“Quit sucking at Pac-Man.”

 

Richie makes it for approximately ten more minutes before he loses his final life. He dramatically turns away from the machine and waves Eddie over, then moves to take his place leaned against Donkey Kong.

 

“You should’ve listened to me about the cherries,” Eddie says smugly, already racking up an impressive amount of points.

 

“I’m gonna pick a new game for us to play when we come here,” Richie grumbles.

 

“What new game? Terminator pinball?” Eddie asks as he clears the level. “Because I’m better than you at that one, too.”

 

“You know, sometimes you act all unsure of yourself, but you’re actually really arrogant.”

 

“I’m not, actually,” Eddie counters. “I just like acting like it to piss you off.”

 

“Ah, so not egotistical,” Richie says, nodding, “just mean.”

 

“Just mean,” Eddie agrees.

 

They play and bicker for another fifteen minutes before Bill finally gets off his shift. He arrives right as Eddie finally loses his final life. Neither he nor Richie have made a new personal best tonight.

 

“Looks like I have good timing,” Bill says, smiling at Richie’s frustrated expression. “Let’s go b-before you two go another round.”

 

The three boys all head out to the parking lot together and climb aboard Richie’s car, Eddie in the passenger’s seat and Bill stretched out across the backseat.

 

“Ugh,” he groans, laying an arm across his eyes. “I’m so f-fucking tired.”

 

“You want me to just take you home?” Richie asks.

 

“Nah, your bed’s nicer than m-mine,” Bill replies. “I’ve already got my heart set on it.”

 

“It’s going to be so much fun for me to just watch Netflix while you sleep in my bed.”

 

“You’re the one who offered.”

 

“Hey, at least the two of you get to go home and chill,” Eddie chimes in, “I still have to sit with my mom and tell her all the painful details of my day, since I haven’t seen her since this morning.”

 

“You’re right,” Richie concedes. “You win.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Eddie finds himself wondering when exactly he hasn’t been in Richie’s presence lately. He doesn’t even think living across the street from each other is an excuse for how close they’ve been. Borderline-unhealthy as it is, something that they’ve openly agreed on before, neither of them want to stop seeing each other every single day.

 

“It’s rare that you actually get to sleep over,” Richie remarks. They’re currently sitting in his living room trying to plan their day, Eddie is sprawled on the floor while Richie hangs upside down off the couch, his legs pointing straight up in the air. “What should we do to mark the occasion?”

 

“What we always do, I guess,” Eddie replies with a shrug, his eyes tracing over the border of a water stain on the ceiling. “We hang out with the others for a couple hours, then come home and fall asleep in the living room with the TV on.”

 

“Let’s do something different this time around,” Richie says, waving his hands as if to dismiss the notion of staying in. “Let’s hang with the others, and then go on a late-night adventure.”

 

“What in the hell does that entail?” Eddie asked, not sure that he even wants to hear the answer. He turns his head to look over at Richie.

 

“I haven’t decided yet, but it’ll be fun.”

 

“That isn’t exactly reassuring.”

 

“You’ll just have to trust me, I guess.”

 

They go to Stan’s house later that day to hang around with the other Losers. Instead of doing anything in particular, they simply lounge around complain about school assignments, or little snippets of gossip, curtesy of Bev. Bill talks incessantly about finally getting his car next week, at long last. Everyone is happy for him, but they’re just a little tired of hearing about it.

 

Somehow, hours of doing nothing seem to fly by when the company is good enough. It’s already dark out when Eddie and Richie decide to leave. They make a point of thanking Stan’s parent’s excessively on their way out; it’s rare that he’s allowed to have friends over, so they have to make as good an impression as possible. The effect is ruined just a little bit when Richie calls them both by their first names. The sighs he gets in return say that the Urises are long-since resigned to Richie’s behavior.

 

“Where are we going?” Eddie asks as soon as they’re walking down the driveway.

 

“Knowing ruins the surprise,” Richie replies cryptically.

 

“I don’t really like surprises.”

 

“You’ll like this one, I think,” Richie says, yanking his car door open. “And if not, I promise to never surprise you again.”

 

They drive around listening to the radio for a while at first, “to set the mood”, as Richie explains.

 

“Is this it? I’ve seen Derry before, Rich,” Eddie says in his least-impressed voice. “Look, there’s the auto shop. And there’s The Grind.”

 

“Jeez, tough crowd,” Richie says. “I know you’ve seen Derry, smartass. Just enjoy the moment right now: the weather isn’t sub-zero for once, there’s actually good music playing on the radio, there’s no traffic because it’s night time…” he looks over at Eddie with a smile, “I’ve got my favorite little pain-in-the-ass with me. Couldn’t be happier.”

 

“I guess if you put it that way, I don’t mind driving aimlessly around with a mop-headed doofus, either,” Eddie replies. They sit in silence for a while before he speaks again, “this really isn’t a very scenic town, is it? New England is supposed to be really beautiful, but Derry just…isn’t.”

 

“You want scenic?” Richie asks. “Well, you’ve come along on the right late-night adventure, my good sir.” He abruptly cuts across two lanes of traffic to turn left down a street, ignoring Eddie’s shouts of protest the entire time. They head into steadily darker roads after that, veering further and further away from the town, which is setting Eddie on edge, but Richie seems totally chill about the entire situation.

 

“You can unclench, dude. I know the way, I’ve driven it a hundred times.” In spite of his casual tone, they are obviously heading down a dirt road towards some unknown destination, and Eddie doesn’t like it one bit. After what feels like an eternity, they’re parked up on the flattened peak of a large hill.

 

“Here we are,” Richie says. “Most scenic thing in Derry, other than the quarry.”

 

Before them is all of Derry, laid out over a modest stretch of land. The vantage of the hill allows them to see that it’s actually nestled in beautiful forests, the lights from the gas stations and other buildings glowing from afar like the town is adrift in a sea of blackness. The sky above is dark, but the stars are incredibly visible, almost as much as the fake ones at the planetarium.

 

“Richie,” Eddie says, looking out at the view through the windshield, “did you take me to a makeout spot?”

 

“You sounded like you could use a view, so I gave you the best view in Derry,” Richie explains, sounding a little flustered.

 

“Wait, you said you’ve made this drive a hundred times?” Eddie presses, turning to look over at Richie. “Did you have a girlfriend I somehow don’t know about? Or was it more of a casual hookup scenario?”

 

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Richie says quickly, chuckling. “Last year was really, ah, _rough_. My parents still fight a lot now, but it’s nothing like how they used to go at it. Sometimes it was so bad that I left through my bedroom window in the middle of the night and rode my bike to Stan’s place. When I turned 16, I was lucky enough to have this piece of shit car as a birthday gift, so I learned to drive as fast as I could, and then when my parents started up, I’d just go out and drive.” He sighs and leans back in the driver’s seat, suddenly looking exhausted by the memory alone. “So I’d drive here. Not to do anything pervy, but to just kinda sit and think.”

 

Eddie takes a moment to process this, then nods. “Back in Portland, I didn’t really have anyone but my mom. So when things got bad with her, I’d lie about going to the library to study and just go walk around the art museum for a couple hours until it was time for her to come pick me up. It was nice just to not be bothered for a while.”

 

“Escaping is good,” Richie says, leaning forward and crossing arms over the steering wheel. “After senior year, I’m leaving this shit hole town and never looking back.”

 

“Where are you gonna go?”

 

“Not sure yet,” Richie replies. “New York, maybe? Or Boston, even. Then I’ll eventually do what all aspiring actors and comedians do, and move out to California. I’m open to the possibilities, though. How about you, Spaghetti? Bet you’ve already got it all planned out.”

 

“Sort of,” Eddie says, grimacing. “My mom definitely has a plan figured out. She wants me to be a doctor, and has a list of schools within an acceptable distance from Derry for me to apply to. She expects me to visit once a month at least.”

 

“Ouch, that’s brutal,” Richie says. “That’s not what you want at all though, is it?”

 

“Oh, hell no. I want to go to a school as far from her as possible and study writing, or maybe engineering. I’m pretty sure that my mom and I will get into a huge blow-up fight about this at the end of senior year where she’ll cry a bunch and I’ll feel bad, and we’ll end up ‘compromising’ so that neither of us are happy. And then we’ll both be miserable and resent each other for the rest of our lives, but I’ll still call her every weekend because I am a deeply flawed person.”

 

“Wow, I think we’ve hit a nerve here,” Richie says. “For what it’s worth, I think you should just say ‘fuck it’ and do whatever you want to do anyway, because you’re never going to make her happy no matter what you choose to do. You might as well be happy.”

 

“It’s hard, though,” Eddie says quietly. “My mom is terrible, but if I don’t have her, I’ll be alone.”

 

“Hey, you wouldn’t be alone,” Richie protests, sitting upright to look over at Eddie. “I’m not gonna stop being in your life just because we might live in different cities. I expect phone calls and skype calls and the occasional visit. The Losers have a pact, and you’re part of that. It’s already decided.”

 

“You aren’t worried that we’ll lose touch?” Eddie asks hesitantly. The mere thought of not having the Losers in his life is almost too much to bear; it feels like he just got these friends and is already having to face the possibility of losing them in a year.

 

“You and me?” Richie asks, raising an eyebrow as if the notion of them not being friends is absolutely ludicrous. “No way. We go together like Hall and Oates, Eddie. You can’t break that up. I’ll fight for us if you will.”

 

“I will,” Eddie replies immediately, feeling relieved. Somehow he knows that it’ll be okay.

 

“Good. I think I’d go crazy without you.”

 

“You’d befriend whatever weirdos were closest and you’d be fine,” Eddie says dismissively.

 

“Oh no, no one compares to you, Eds. I’d probably drive any possible new friends away because I’d just complain all the time about how I don’t get to see you every day anymore. They’d all avoid me after that.” They stare at each other for a moment, letting Richie’s earnest words linger between them.

 

Eddie can’t quite place it, but the atmosphere of their friendship has definitely changed over the past few weeks. It’s not just the nature of their conversations, or their closeness, even. It’s Richie, who used to not understand why his boundaries were drawn the way they were, and who’s become self-aware since Eddie kissed him. Now he’s redrawing his boundaries without allowing Derry to influence how he feels, which must feel like weight off his chest. He’s more open now, more expressive, not feeling that compulsion to do what’s expected of him. That small-town mindset never fit Richie anyway.

 

[The song on the radio changes, and Eddie suddenly reaches over and cranks it up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzyX0X3RATU). “I love this song,” he says. “Want to dance?”

 

“What?” Richie asks, probably because he expected to be asked to dance by Eddie Kaspbrak when Hell froze over. “Here? Now?”

 

“My offer has an expiration date, so you’d better say yes soon,” Eddie replies, already feeling self-conscious.

 

Richie quickly unclips his seatbelt and practically throws himself out of the car in his enthusiasm, Eddie following suit not long after. They leave the car doors open to hear the music better, then meet up on the driver’s side and clumsily join their hands so that they can twist and sway to the rhythm of the song. Dancing is not quite the correct term for what they’re doing, especially because halfway through they’ve mostly given up because Eddie is laughing too hard to stay properly upright. He leans into Richie’s shoulder for support as the taller boy tries and fails to continue to move them around in a little circle, probably because he’s laughing too.

 

“This was a stupid idea,” Eddie says as his laughter dies down. “A ridiculous, stupid idea.”

 

“A brilliant idea,” Richie corrects him. “A brilliant and fun idea.” He clears his throat. “Now, for the big finish. We’ve gotta have one, you know. So I’m gonna dip you, okay?”

 

“Wait, Richie don—” Richie doesn’t wait for Eddie to finish protesting, and instead forcefully swings him backwards in a sudden and dramatic dip. “Ohmygoddon’tyoudarefuckingdropme.”

 

Richie manages not to drop him, and instead just grins down at Eddie like a maniac before pulling him back to an upright position. “Look, we did it. No concussions or anything.”

 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, “I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes. That’s enough dancing for tonight.”

 

Richie leans back into the car to turn the radio back down while Eddie walks over to the hood and sits on the edge. The car rocks a little bit when Richie takes the spot to Eddie’s left.

 

“It really is a nice night, isn’t it?” Eddie says. He’s never seen stars this clearly before.

 

Richie hums in reply. “Sure is.”

 

“I change my mind. I’m glad you took us on an adventure.”

 

“See? Sometimes I’m not just full of shit.”

 

“Just most of the time,” Eddie replies.

 

They sit in silence after that, watching the sky above them and the glittering little town below. Eddie could get used to coming here, he thinks. Or, at least whenever there aren’t couples fooling around in their cars. The quiet is nice, he can see why Richie likes it so much.

 

Eventually, they call it a night and climb back inside Richie’s car. They stop at the gas station on their way back to his house, walking up and down every aisle over and over again as they amass different junk foods in their arms. Richie tops it off by filling up the biggest cup they offer with layers of every single slushie flavor and sticking two straws through the opening in the dome-shaped lid.

 

When they get back to Richie’s house, the lights are already turned off. Eddie has to shush Richie several times as they head upstairs to his room, which is as far away from the downstairs master bedroom as they can get. Finally, they get the door shut, and Richie unceremoniously piles the remainder of their gas station haul onto his desk.

 

“This is your house, Richie. I shouldn’t have to tell you to shut up.”

 

“My parents sleep like the dead, Eds. There’s no way they’d wake up just because I talk a little too loud.”

 

“I guess they had to adapt in order to survive living with you, huh?”

 

“Yes, and they did.” Richie puts a record on and keeps the volume low, then tosses a bag of chips to Eddie before taking one for himself. "We could set firecrackers off in here and they probably wouldn't even roll over."

 

They spend the rest of the night talking and eating. Richie has an amazing talent for generating conversation topics, what-if scenarios, would-you-rathers, random questions that pop into his head. They talk for hours about nothing and anything until exhaustion weighs too heavily on them and they turn off the lights and retreat to Richie’s unnaturally comfortable bed.

 

“Eds?” Richie suddenly whispers, even though there’s no real reason for him to keep his voice down. “Are you asleep?”

 

“I’m trying to be,” Eddie grumbles. He rolls over to face away from Richie, trying to burrow further into the comforter in the hopes that it’ll at least drown out the other boy’s voice.

 

“Hey,” Richie hisses, and Eddie hears him perfectly through the fabric barrier. Figures that even his quiet voice is too loud. “Would you come back over here? I wanna say something.”

 

Eddie groans and rolls back towards the center of the bed. Richie is on his side, propped up on one elbow. The light from his bedroom window is softly backlighting him with a white halo.

 

“What, Rich?”

 

“I’ve, um, been thinking?”

 

“That’s great, I’m very proud of you.”

 

“You’re always so fucking difficult, Eddie Kaspbrak. I’m trying to bare my soul to you right now, and you’re just mocking me.”

 

The fog of half-consciousness fades from Eddie’s head once he realizes that Richie is being serious. “What is it, Rich?” he asks, this time not as irritably.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Richie repeats, “and I was wondering…”

 

“Wondering?”

 

“How you feel about me?”

 

Eddie’s mouth goes dry at those words, the echo of his last confession washing over him. His chest aches and his palms start sweating. “What?”

 

“I mean,” Richie seems nervous suddenly, even though they can’t really even see each other in the darkness of the room. “You said you liked me before, right? Well, how do you feel now?”

 

“What does it matter, Rich?” Eddie asks, already trying to protect himself from another round of disappointment.

 

“Because,” Richie says carefully, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about kissing you lately...?”

 

Eddie’s heart stops for a moment. He thinks he must’ve heard Richie wrong. Or he’s dreaming. Something, anything. This can’t possibly be real.

 

“You,” Eddie starts, feeling breathless. He stops and tries again. “You want to kiss me?”

 

“I do. I won’t though, of course, if-if you’re already over me and just want to stay friends. Shit--I’m sorry, Eds. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“As a heart attack.”

 

Eddie takes a deep breath and sits more upright in the bed. “You’re not fucking with me?”

 

“Why would I fuck with you like this?” Richie says, sounding offended. “Even I’m not that much of an asshole, Eds.”

 

“You want to kiss me?” Eddie repeats.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Eddie nods shakily, but realizes that Richie can’t see him. Slowly, painfully slow, he leans closer to Richie, who seems to be equally freaked out by what’s happening. A hand comes up and very tentatively rests on the side of Eddie’s face, either in a gesture of affection or to figure out where exactly his face is, or both, and then Richie leans up to close the last few inches between their lips.

 

The kiss is slow and gentle. It’s different in every possible way from the disastrous one Eddie planted on Richie in December. It’s more thought out, softer, not as lightning-fast. This is the kiss Eddie’s wanted since he started thinking about it, the one he pictured in his head on an embarrassing number of occasions. It’s perfect, and absolutely terrifying.

 

When they pull away from each other, Eddie holds his breath and waits for the joke to land, or for Richie to realize that it wasn’t what he wanted after all. He doesn’t think they can move past it this time and just keep being friends, though. He can’t bury his feelings down like that ever again. He won’t find it in himself to forgive Richie a second time.

 

Richie doesn’t make a joke, though, and he doesn’t reject Eddie. He just stares up at him, still propped up on one elbow. His hand is holding the side of Eddie’s face, and the pad of his thumb gently rubbing back and forth against Eddie’s cheek for a moment before finally falling away.

 

“Eds,” Richie says.

 

“What?”

 

“I know I’m, like, two months late, but I really, really like you. So fucking much. Do you think you could be generous enough to forgive me and maybe let me date you…?”

 

“Let you date me?” Eddie feels lightheaded.

 

“Yeah. Only if you want to, of course. No pressure.”

 

Eddie lets himself flop back down on the bed, trying to process the last five minutes. He’s in shock, too surprised to be happy yet. He _should_ be happy, though. This is everything he’s wanted for the past few months. Richie is everything he’s wanted, and he finally feels the same.

 

Richie likes him. Wants to kiss him. Wants to _date_ him.

 

“Okay,” Eddie says, staring up at the pitch-black ceiling. “Yeah.”

 

Under normal circumstances, Richie might’ve protested to such an important conversation ending in a simple “okay, yeah”, but he seems sufficiently shocked as well. They lay there in silence for several long moments before either of them feel ready to say anything.

 

“Do we tell the others?” Richie asks.

 

“Maybe we should see if this even works before we tell anyone,” Eddie replies. The last thing he wants is to get everyone involved in this and then have it all crash and burn. “We’ll tell them eventually.”

 

If this doesn't end in disaster.

 

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

 

Eddie rolls back over onto his side and scoots closer. “You couldn’t have waited until tomorrow morning to do this?” he asks.

 

“You know, you say that, but I notice you coming closer,” Richie replies. Eddie doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s smiling smugly.

 

“I can just roll over and try to go back to sleep, like I originally wanted to.”

 

“Quit being difficult for the hell of it and just come here already.”

 

Richie opens his arms invitingly, and Eddie, too tired to continue arguing, and unable to resist this months-old fantasy becoming a reality, simply rolls once more until he’s pressed into his chest. Richie draping one arm over his middle is the last thing he remembers before finally falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie's Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/1SlBPQVVklfC6iw4xpYW1Y?si=BGB4ckudSc6q2pHcY8_JMA
> 
> Eddie's Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/yooxwc6gbxgo9hb263r9doszt/playlist/6joyoJFBeQjMvcA2mLmy6u?si=lcfZew_ZRvmfv5fNXQp_6w


End file.
